


Change in Command

by scifishipper



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Agony Booth, Alien Culture, Alien Sex Organs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Betrayal, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings, First Meetings, Hallucinogens, Impulsivity, It's a Cruel Cruel World this Mirror Universe, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Murder, Oral Sex, Out of Body Experiences, Painplay, Power Dynamics, Protective Spock, Sadism, Slavery, Telepathic Distress, Telepathic violence, Unintentional Bonding, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifishipper/pseuds/scifishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a new captain, the first forty-eight hours are always the deadliest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spock watched the flag-draped coffin emerge from the bowels of the ship and launch into space, taking his Captain, Marshall F. Mallick, to his final resting place deep in the Alpha Quadrant. To Spock’s eyes, the crew appeared to be adequately respectful, although Ensign Chekov’s intentions were well-telegraphed for anyone who chose to observe; he himself would certainly be the target of his schemes for power. It was no matter, however, he had faced far worse in the past.

As Spock watched the metal casket disappear into the dark backdrop of space, he felt no relief. During the past year, he had achieved some ease with Captain Mallick, understanding his temper and his need for control with an accuracy of ninety-seven-point-four percent. On four occasions it had saved his own life; on six others had resulted in the death of a fellow crew mate. Only one of those were required to be at Spock’s hand. 

Mallick’s death, however, came as no surprise to Spock. He had performed adequately in his role of Captain of the ISS Enterprise for two years and thirteen days, sixty-one days longer than Spock had predicted. His style, much like Captain L’Egu’s before him, was brutal and swift and brooked no resistance, leaving the crew nearly unfit for duty due to injuries and fear. Spock himself considered it fortuitous, if not statistically improbable, that he had remained alive to welcome yet another captain. 

The new commanding officer had been chosen when Spock refused the captaincy yet again, preferring to retain his role as First Officer. It was only by the grace of his father’s relationship with the Emperor that Spock was provided the right of refusal. 

Not more than fourteen hours since the Empire was notified of Mallick’s death, his replacement was en route to the Enterprise, the flagship of the fleet. Spock knew of James T. Kirk’s reputation as a favorite among favorites, but beyond that, he had no information. His personnel file, it seemed, was reserved only for those in command with access far greater than his. _Curious._

The shuttle craft appeared on Enterprise sensors only thirty-nine minutes after Spock had completed his inspection and witnessed the punishment of three ensigns and two officers. He would tolerate nothing that would cause censure from the new captain. He stopped short of executing one of the inept Lieutenants, saving him for an opportunity to show the new captain that he was willing and eager to execute those who defied or bungled his orders. 

“Captain Spock, sir. The shuttle is approaching and expected to disembark in six minutes,” Lieutenant Uhura stated over the comm.

“Acknowledged,” Spock answered and adjusted his sash by one-point-four centimeters. It was rare for a human to notice such details, but Spock was determined to survive Kirk’s first forty-eight hours. Those were the deadliest times, survivable by only eighty-six-point-one percent of the crew. It would be likely, as well, that Kirk had brought his own officers as replacements. Spock knew his own position was most at risk in the first hour — if a replacement First Officer were present, it was likely he would be demoted or killed. With a long breath, Spock briefly closed his eyes to center himself. He had lived a good life and had few regrets. His millions of credits in holdings would go to his father who would undoubtedly enjoy their benefits.

Spock arrived at Hangar Deck Two and surveyed the color guard, scrutinizing the details of their uniforms and posture with a practiced eye. The men and women would pass the strictest inspection and he felt no particular worry about their performance. 

The shuttle eased into the bay with a rumble of engines and a clanging thud as it settled on the deck.

The door shuddered open and Spock called the color guard to arms. The men and women snapped into place, sharp and precise as they had been trained. After a moment, James T. Kirk emerged, his gold command shirt glimmering in the bright lights of the bay. Spock registered surprise at his young age. The man stepped off the shuttle with a casual hop, his posture more of a swagger than Spock was used to seeing from Empire command officers. On his chest, Spock immediately recognized the Terran Medal of Valor, given only to those exhibiting tremendous courage and cunning, and given by the Emperor himself. Below it, the Distinguished Service Medal and two gold Wings of Service, signifying membership in the Emperor’s Winged Legion, one of the most secretive military agencies in all of the Terran Empire. He could only imagine the commendations he did not display on his chest; indeed he was a formidable man. It was clear that this captain had the full confidence of the Emperor and Spock's spine notched ever so slightly straighter.

To his surprise, the Captain completely disregarded the honor guard and strode towards Spock, a half smile on his face. Spock snapped to attention and raised his arm in salute. The Captain returned the salute and grinned.

“Commander Spock,” Kirk said breezily, “at ease.” 

“As you wish, sir,” Spock said, relaxing his posture slightly while watching the Captain’s face. His heart ticked faster at this unusual behavior. 

“You have come without guards,” Spock stated flatly.

Kirk surprised him by chuckling. “You’ll find, Commander, that I am more than capable of defending myself.” His voice held a threatening edge. Spock cataloged his tone, posture, and words for future reference.

“Yes, sir,” Spock answered. “The ship is ready for your inspection.”

“Later,” Kirk said, and swept past Spock to head toward the turbo lift. “I need to be on the bridge. I have orders directly from Admiral Nogura.”

“Yes, Captain,” Spock said with a nod. He dismissed the honor guard and followed the Captain toward the turbolift.

The Captain strode ahead of Spock, his confident swagger showing a man who did not fear attacks from behind, particularly those of his First Officer. Spock had rarely seen such confidence before. 

Once inside the turbolift, Kirk faced Spock, his eyes glittering green and gold. 

“You might be Vulcan, but I believe I have surprised you,” Kirk said, smirking.

“Indeed, Captain.” Spock’s tone was deferential, as was his lowered eye contact. If this was a test, Spock meant to pass.

“I am full of surprises, Commander,” Kirk said, drawing his voice down to a heavy whisper. He moved then, stealthily, to face Spock and stood only inches away. “I have been told that you do not desire command. How can this be true? What man doesn't want it?”

“I do not desire the captaincy. I am much more content with my scientific duties. And, I am frankly content to be a lesser target.”

“Ah, so then the rumors are true. Have you never assassinated a superior then?” Kirk seemed to laugh at him.

Spock stared at Kirk, voice strong as he spoke. “While my intellect and experience were more than sufficient for the role of Science Officer, three years ago I became impatient. I enacted a plan to remove both the Science and First Officers from the command chain. With those positions vacant, it was only logical to step in to assist former Captain L’Egu by assuming both roles.” 

Kirk grinned. “Good to know, Commander. I’ll make sure you are rewarded generously for your continued…patience.” Along with his words, Kirk pressed his palm against Spock’s genital region. The Captain’s breath was hot against his cheek and he felt the unexpected stirrings of arousal. It had been many years since he had been touched by a man in this way.

“At your peril, Captain,” Spock warned evenly. He held the Captain’s eyes and braced for violence.

“Ahh, Spock,” Kirk answered, his eyes gleaming with arousal and challenge as he stroked Spock through his uniform pants. “You will live or die at my command, and you will beg for my cock as I desire it. Your body and soul belong to me now.” Kirk gave Spock’s growing erection a sharp pinch. “Are we clear, Commander?”

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered, suppressing his immediate pain reaction. His mind whirred in response to this unpredictable man. 

Kirk stepped back without a word and stood at parade rest, his hands looped casually behind his back. It was clear that his posture was a ruse and that every muscle in his body was prepared to fight. 

As the turbolift came to a halt, Kirk stared at him, his green-gold eyes raking over Spock’s body with barely suppressed hunger. To his credit, Spock maintained a neutral expression, but watched carefully as the Captain took a step toward the bridge, then half-turned and gave a crooked smile.

“My quarters, Commander. Twenty-three hundred hours. I will see you on your knees.”

With that, Kirk marched onto the bridge, leaving Spock in a state of unrest. After a moment, he composed himself and followed. Unexpectedly, his eyes dropped to Kirk's shapely backside. _Fascinating,_ he thought, surprised at his interest.

And so, twenty-three hundred hours it would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd been wanting to write more of this seductive Kirk in the Mirrorverse and WIPBigBang gave me the opportunity (and ass-kicking) to do it. I have more chapters coming!
> 
> For the WIPBigBang, I had the amazing artist **kuwlshadows** who create lovely art for this story. I am so pleased with it!! Thank you!  <3<3 Please give the artist a LIKE on tumblr [here.](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/147147196223/title-change-in-command-author-scifishipper)
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
>   
> 

Spock arrived at the new captain’s quarters one minute prior to the appointed hour. He straightened his tunic, an odd and unexpected signal of growing tension in his chest. He ticked off the mental hour, twelve hours since the new captain, James T. Kirk, had arrived on the Enterprise. 

He pressed the chime for entry and the door slid open, revealing the dimly lit chamber. He stepped inside, scanning the sparsely decorated rooms for sign of the captain. A moment later, the fresher door slid open and the human emerged shirtless and grinning with a towel in his hand. Spock immediately stiffened, considering the captain much as he would a _lematya_ hidden in the bushes. He did not allow his eyes to linger on the man’s muscular torso.

“Mr. Spock. Have a seat.” Kirk gestured toward a small table with two chairs. “You play tri-D, I assume?”

“Of course, Captain,” he said, nodding deferentially. No one arrived at senior officer status without proving worth at the tri-D chess table.

“Your standing in the rankings is impressive, Commander,” the captain said, surprising Spock with what appeared to be a compliment. Spock was ranked seventh in the Empire, a position won through eight years of strategic matches.

“Indeed. And what is your ranking, sir?” Spock asked. He had been surprised to find no ranking for the young captain.

“Ah. I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?” Kirk smirked and plopped into the chair facing the door. He rubbed at his damp hair with his towel and draped it around his neck. 

Spock followed his lead and sat, gazing at Kirk for some sign of what might come next. He had not forgotten the unsubtle threat that had brought him to the man’s quarters. 

“How is it that you have not been ranked, Captain? It is most unusual,” Spock intoned as he wondered at the seemingly pleasant start to their relationship. 

“A well-placed word does wonders,” Kirk said and moved out a pawn.

“So a threat,” Spock said and responded with his own pawn.

“You presume much, Commander. You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” The captain shifted in his seat and moved again, with no clear strategy apparent.

“A curious analogy given the temperament of the Empire.” Spock raised a brow and moved once more. The captain quickly moved again, and after a moment, Spock nudged a piece forward.

“My record, as you are undoubtedly aware, Mr. Spock, shows the success of my efforts.” The captain paused, fingered his bishop, and then seemed to think better of it and moved his rook instead. 

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock said, pondering the thousands of permutations available to him. He enjoyed the challenge of tri-D, but had not forgotten his opponent’s need to win. Besting a new captain could easily be the end of his life. Men in his service had died for much less, some by Spock’s own hand as necessity required.

As he studied the board, Spock felt Kirk’s stare and glanced up to meet hazel eyes lit with humor. “You are wondering, Mr. Spock, if winning will anger me. I can assure you that playing one whit below your abilities will certainly secure that result.”

Spock nodded once, suppressing his surprise at the captain’s statement. Briefly he wondered if the man had some empath or telepath abilities. There were so few details on him that Spock considered nothing impossible. With only a moment’s more hesitation, he moved his queen to capture the captain’s rook. The captain gave a lopsided smile and moved quickly, raising his queen to the second level and sitting back with his arms crossed.

“Curious,” Spock said, attempting to divine the captain’s strategy. He pursed his lips slightly and considered one of two possible moves, each sacrificing more than he would have liked.

“What say we add a bit of honey to the pot, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said, leaning forward and peering through the board at him.

“I was not aware we were wagering.” 

“Ah, now. Everything is a gamble, is it not, Commander? Your presence here in my quarters, a fully charged weapon on your belt, not to mention your gilded knife, which is undoubtedly as deadly as it is attractive.”

“And what do you suggest as a wager, Captain?”

“Perhaps a ‘get out of jail free card,’ as we Terrans used to say in days long past.”

“Please clarify.” Spock tilted his head in question as Kirk leaned back and curved his lips into a lopsided smile, face relaxed with affected laziness.

“I will give you one opportunity to say ‘No’ to me, to refuse any direct order I give you. Use it any time you choose, without repercussion, but with the knowledge that it is the only one you will ever receive.” The captain’s eyes narrowed, flecks of hazel shimmering against his green irises.

“Interesting offer, Captain.” Spock sat back in his seat. “I assume I shall receive this ‘card’ if I win this match?”

“You got it!” Kirk said and chuckled, appraising the board and waiting for Spock’s decision.

Spock lifted a hand toward his queen. A risky sacrifice, but Kirk’s offer was too tempting to refuse. It could one day save his life. “I accept your wager, Captain. If I win this match, I will receive one ‘get out of jail free card’ — one opportunity to refuse an order from you at my sole discretion without penalty.”

At Kirk’s nod, Spock moved his queen down two levels and regarded Kirk. “Check.”

Kirk paused for only a moment before taking Spock’s sacrifice.

“Checkmate in three moves, Captain,” Spock said, keeping his voice particularly without inflection. He assessed the continued threat to his person at seventy-nine point six percent probability of death.

Kirk threw back his head and laughed. “Ha! Wonderful move, Spock. I didn’t think you’d risk so much. You have won our wager.”

Appearing pleased, Kirk pushed back his chair and threw his towel onto a nearby cushion. Slouching down, he spread his legs wide and loosened his trousers. With a heady stare, he slid his hand into his waistband and drew out his slightly erect penis and stroked himself. Spock’s heart lurched in his side.

“Now, Mr. Spock, you will get on your knees and service me.” He smirked, thumbing the glistening head of his penis. “Unless, of course, you wish to redeem your prize and say no.”

Spock hesitated only a moment. “It would be unwise to use it to refuse such a simple task.” Spock put as much nonchalance into his words as he could. Inside, his mind raced to suppress his panic, suddenly realizing the potential of Kirk’s plan to control him. 

He dropped to his knees, as his commanding officer ordered, and took Kirk’s penis into his mouth. Freshly showered, the captain tasted of mild soap and the faint musk of his arousal. As Spock sucked and stroked the captain, he recalled in perfect detail the nine other occasions in which he had fellated a superior officer. With a brief feeling of satisfaction, he wrenched an orgasm from his captain, and as his mouth filled with semen, he imagined with equal clarity, the unadulterated satisfaction he would achieve when his captain joined those other men in death.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning brought the first full alpha shift of the captain’s new command. Spock appeared precisely on time to find Kirk already on the bridge, speaking to Uhura in hushed, intimate tones. The man had his hand on her chair, giving her a show of white teeth, eyes dancing flirtatiously. Spock sensed a spark of unwanted emotion, tasting faintly of possessiveness. He dismissed it as a by-product of their sexual liaison the night before—arousal and possessiveness were practically one and the same for Vulcans. He merely filed it away for future use.

With a glance at the rest of the bridge crew, Spock logged into his station and checked the reports from the gamma shift officer. A quiet night, he saw, which confirmed his spy’s report that the captain had not left his quarters until an hour before alpha. 

A few minutes later, Kirk caught Spock’s attention with a loud laugh. He turned to see Kirk moving away from Uhura to take a seat in the command chair. She looked vaguely pleased with herself. 

Kirk settled into the chair as if he had always been there. “Mr. Chekov, lay a course for Geshian Prime.”

“Aye-aye, Keptin. Course laid in,” Chekov responded in his thick Russian accent. His shoulders, customarily hunched over the console, were erect, belying his anxiety about the new captain.

“Mr. Sulu, ahead warp factor four.” 

“Aye, Captain. Warp factor four.” Sulu tapped the keys on his console and Spock detected the faint gravitational pull of the ship moving to warp speed. 

“May I inquire as to the nature of our business on Geshian Prime, Captain?” Spock asked pleasantly.

“Ah, yes,” Kirk said, turning his chair to face Spock fully. His expression was playful. “The poor inhabitants of Geshian Prime. Seems their water supply was inexplicably tainted and most of the population died. Sadly, their dilithium mining operation has been affected.” His smirk spread into a wicked smile. “We’ll be just in time to offer assistance.”

“I see,” Spock said, nodding. “That is indeed an unfortunate circumstance for them.”

Kirk turned away once more and gazed at the stars filling the view screen. “Mr. Chekov, ETA to Geshian Prime?” he asked, tapping a few keys on a PADD.

“Six hours twenty seven minutes, Keptin,” the navigator answered.

The captain nodded and Spock returned to reviewing data logs and approving crew requests. He handled only the most minor requests himself, preferring at this early stage to forward most to Kirk. After consideration, he chose not to offer his recommendations for action, as he had done with his previous commanders. Rather quickly, Spock received notification of denial after denial. Over the next hour, Spock began to see a pattern: pleasure requests were approved over others nearly nine-to-one. Curious.

The bridge shift progressed relatively quietly and Spock became consumed with the details of one of his science projects, which had begun to show unusual results. When Kirk started to speak, he found his attention had shifted most dangerously away from the necessary monitoring of a new captain. 

“So, Mr. Chekov, have you ever had the pleasure of Commander Spock’s mouth around your cock?” Kirk’s voice held a lazy drawl which contrasted with the sharp stiffening of every spine on the bridge as they came alert.

Spock, of course, controlled his reaction, but did turn toward the captain with a brow raised. This was unexpected, but not unusual—most new captains made a show of dominating their Firsts early in their captaincy. 

Chekov glanced nervously at Spock, then answered, “No, Keptin.”

“Ah, such a shame. His technique is quite good.” Kirk chuckled, eyes crinkling with merriment. “I recommend it highly should your current plot with Lieutenant Macnamara succeed in removing me from the bridge.” 

Spock watched as the navigator’s entire body went erect, eyes shifting nervously around the room. “Ke-keptin…” he stuttered, swallowing hard.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, turning to face him, expression unreadable. “What is the punishment for plotting to assassinate a senior officer?”

“The agony booth, sir,” Spock said dryly. 

“Ah, yes. Excellent,” Kirk answered, then snapped his voice like a whipcord. “Report to the agony booth, Ensign. As you writhe in pain, might I suggest you reconsider your plans for promotion.”

“Yes, sir,” the frightened man mumbled and then scrambled out of his seat and nearly ran toward the lift.

The captain was silent for a long moment, then turned to Spock as he stood. “With me, Mr. Spock. I’d like to see your booth in action. I have heard it is particularly nasty.” 

“Indeed, Captain. I have made several improvements to the unit. It is particularly effective for species with a high pain tolerance.” Spock walked toward the captain and they approached the turbo lift.

“Such as Vulcans?” Kirk asked, leaning close to Spock. The entire bridge crew surreptitiously watched the exchange.

“Yes. Former Captain L’Egu requested improvements because he was dissatisfied with my experiences inside the booth.”

Kirk smirked, his breath on Spock’s cheek as he leaned even closer. “A wise man knows a thing or two about control. Although, as you know, I prefer…other methods.” His voice was silky smooth.

“As you wish, Captain,” Spock answered, inhaling Kirk’s scent and becoming dismayed at its arousing effect on his body. He forced it away and stepped into the turbo lift after the captain.

Moments later, they emerged into the disciplinary chamber. Chekov stood, shoulders hunched and eyes glued to the floor. 

Kirk folded his muscular arms in front of him as he stared at the guilty-looking ensign. “All right, Mr. Spock, show me what you’ve got.”

“Lieutenant,” Spock said, addressing the booth operator. “Please prepare Mr. Chekov for the booth.”

“Yes, sir,” the blond man answered. He pushed Chekov into the booth and closed the door.

“How long, Captain?” Spock asked.

“What do you recommend, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, as if he trusted him implicitly.

“The standard punishment for his infraction is thirty minutes. I find the human body does not register pain as acutely after nineteen minutes, so I recommend random intervals lasting for one hour. It promotes greater psychological distress.”

“Ah, yes. Very nice.” Kirk looked at the booth operator. “One hour, random intervals, Lieutenant.”

“Right away, sir,” the man answered breathlessly. A moment later, the lights of the booth began to flash and Chekov’s body jerked in pain. Again and again, he contorted, his face a dark mask of agony. 

Kirk watched for several long minutes. “Can you record this, Mr. Spock?” he asked, bumping his shoulder against Spock’s.

“In progress, sir. It is required to record all punishments. Since becoming First Officer, the Enterprise has received several commendations for the thoroughness of our methods. 

“Yes, yes. I am familiar.” Kirk gave Spock a questioning look. “Did you think I chose the Enterprise at random?” 

“I am unaware of the circumstances leading to your assignment on the Enterprise.”

Kirk chuckled. “Above your pay grade, eh?”

“Indeed.”

As Chekov writhed, the lights flashed and the machine seemed to vibrate with malevolent energy. After fourteen minutes, the machine stopped and Chekov slumped against the glass, sweat smearing the clear surface.

“So what happens now?” Kirk asked.

“At some interval, the agony will begin again. I have re-programmed the booth to sense when the offender’s neurochemicals and bodily functions are beginning to return to normal levels. Within a pre-determined range, the booth will start again.”

“Great thinking, Spock. Use his body against him. Wonderful!” Kirk smiled, genuinely enjoying the prospect of more torture. For Spock, it was merely a means to an end – and a stupid ensign’s poor plotting skills. It was well-known Macnamara was a drunkard with a loose tongue.

“If I may make a query, Captain?” Spock asked as they stared at Chekov in repose.

“Yes?” 

“May I ask how you knew of the ensign’s betrayal? You have been aboard only nineteen hours seventeen minutes.” 

Kirk chuckled and leaned closer, speaking low. “A hunch, Spock. A good ol’ human hunch.” 

Spock reacted to Kirk’s closeness by stiffening minutely and raising a brow. “Fascinating. It appears your ‘hunch’ was accurate, considering his display of panic on the bridge.” Spock was beginning to see how this man had risen to his position at such a young age.

“Got it in one, Spock.” Kirk slapped his hands on the sides of his thighs. “All right, I’ve got things to do. Have the recording sent to my ready room when it’s complete. I’m going to meet the ship’s doctor. McCoy, right?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I accompany you?”

Kirk winked. “I think I can find it.”

“As you wish,” Spock answered, bowing slightly before turning back to Chekov. The lights began to flash once more, and the man’s body convulsed in agony. Spock watched the grimace, the bared, clenched teeth, the stiff limbs and bent spine, cataloging each one as reminder to stay wary of this new captain, willing to punish on a hunch. 

Dangerous, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

Spock returned to the bridge where he found Kirk and Doctor McCoy laughing as Sulu pinned a struggling Uhura to the console and groped her. McCoy, eyes lit with a familiar sadism, fondled the short blade that Spock recognized as Uhura’s.

Spock, wishing to avoid interference, made a circuitous route around the bridge. Kirk glanced at him and slapped McCoy on the back as if they were old friends. A curious technique, Spock thought as he slid into his station. 

Unlike his previous commanders, Kirk appeared to eschew the regular use of intimidation to control of the crew. His actions with Chekov were a clear signal to the crew that he would tolerate no disobedience, but Spock wondered at his congenial attitude. Surely it could not be real. Had it really met with the approval of the Emperor? Spock considered the Captain’s medals, particularly the Wings of Service, indicating inclusion in the Emperor’s Winged Legion. Spock had only the barest of knowledge about how the secretive unit operated, but even there, Kirk’s attitude must have been unusual. Certainly, in his many years in the Empire, he had never witnessed a man with so much power act so solicitously. 

“Spock,” Kirk asked, turning his chair toward him. “How does the ensign fare?”

“Adequately submissive, Captain. He is being escorted to sickbay as we speak. Once he is cleared by Doctor McCoy, he will return to duty.” Spock glanced at the doctor with a blank expression. 

“All right, Captain. I’ll give Chekov the once-over and send him up here. Do you mind if I run a few tests?” McCoy asked with a smirk.

“Of course, Doctor. The ensign would surely benefit from your ministrations. Don’t you agree, Mr. Spock?”

“Indeed. The doctor’s methods are an effective deterrent to illness and injury,” Spock answered, raising a brow at McCoy.

Kirk’s face became momentarily serious. “I’d like him back on shift within the hour, McCoy. Be quick about yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” McCoy answered, his southern accent drawn out for effect. The doctor held the handle of Uhura’s knife out to the captain.

“Very good,” Kirk answered, taking the knife and rotating it in his hands as his gaze returned to Sulu’s assault on Uhura. One hand was deep into her uniform skirt, obviously fingering her as his mouth sucked on the woman’s breast. Uhura’s body was stiff and unyielding. While Spock could not see her face, he knew her to be an intimidating woman who could easily kill. He could only surmise she was playing a part for her captain. Under any other circumstances, Spock would have expected Sulu, who had attempted to assault Uhura two times before, to bleed out on the deck.

“Helmsman!” Kirk barked, startling the man, whose head snapped up, mouth red and wet. “What’s our ETA to Geshian Prime?” 

Sulu’s lust-filled eyes sharpened and he removed his hands from Uhura. Straightening his tunic, he strode past the captain and sat at his station. “Three hours fifty-one minutes, Captain.”

The captain ignored Sulu and approached Uhura, who was tucking her breast back into the top of her uniform. Kirk returned her knife and whispered something Spock could not detect, even with his superior hearing. 

When Kirk turned away, Uhura’s eyes trailed him for one long second before she caught Spock’s stare and raised an eyebrow of her own. Squaring her shoulders, she tucked in her knife and sat down at her station once more. Were it not for an errant spike of black hair behind her ear, no one would ever know what had happened.

As Spock turned back to his station, he noticed Sulu adjusting himself at his post, and wondered how long he would continue to live. Shame, really. He was quite a good helmsman.

With the drama over, Spock returned to assessing the results of his experiments. With seventeen experiments running simultaneously, much of his free time was spent analyzing data from his science staff. Three of his experiments required immediate attention, so he sent a communication to several ensigns whom he could trust.

Deep into scanning his work, he heard the turbo lift doors slide open. A neatly groomed, although pale, Chekov emerged. He raised his arm in salute. “Ensign Chekov reporting for duty, sir.”

“At ease, Ensign. Take your post.” Kirk didn’t look at him as he spoke, just kept tapping on his PADD.

Spock nodded to the ensign as he took his seat. After that, the hours sped by quickly with only mundane ship business spoken between the crew. When his internal time sense indicated, he finished his communications and launched several computer processes to run until the next morning, just as Sulu announced the planet of Geshian Prime approaching.

“Impulse power, Mr. Sulu.” Kirk said.

“Impulse power, Captain.”

“Readings, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, swiveling toward him. 

The planet is inhabited on one continent in the temperate zone. Technology is consistent with mission parameters.”

“Mr. Chekov, any other interested parties in the area?” Kirk edged forward in his seat. 

“Nothing on scans, Keptin. There is interference around ze planet’s moon. Initiating secondary scans,” Chekov answered.

The crew awaited results of the scans and Spock checked his own data. He could detect nothing through the interference.

“Scans inconclusive, sir.” 

“Mr. Sulu, take us around. I don’t want any surprises.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The crew’s eyes were fixed on the viewscreen displaying a gray pockmarked moon as the Enterprise navigated around it. On the opposing side, a large antenna array appeared to be malfunctioning. 

“Increase magnification,” Kirk said.

As the camera zoomed, it revealed two slashes of burned, curled metal in the outer shell of the station below. 

“Looks like it took phaser fire, Captain,” Sulu offered.

“I concur, Captain. Given the precision of the blasts, it is likely this was intentionally designed to create interference. I suspect we are dealing with another party interested in the dilithium,” Spock added.

“Agreed Mr. Spock. Shields up.” The captain slid back into his chair and tapped in several commands. 

“Uhura, send a message to the Empire outpost in this quadrant. See if they’ve spotted or captured any Romulans or Klingons in the last few weeks.”

“Sending message, Captain,” Uhura responded.

“Can you identify the source of the blast, Mr. Spock? Romulans?”

Spock spent a few moments reviewing his readings. “I am unable to ascertain the source from the weapon patterns alone, but I suggest it is unlikely the Klingons would use such precision or subterfuge. Their attacks tend toward—” 

“Messiness,” Kirk finished. “Very good, Mr. Spock.”

“If it is indeed the Romulans, their cloaking device would create a formidable challenge in this instance. It would be necessary, however, for the Romulan vessel to uncloak to allow crew to beam down to the planet surface.”

“Ah, yes.” Kirk tapped his chin, thinking.

“Mr. Sulu, can you completely disable the antenna array? To discontinue the interference?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do it…quietly. Lower shields.”

The crew watched as Sulu fired two bursts of phaser fire into the structure. Moments later, Spock confirmed the clearing of interference.

“Nice work, Mr. Sulu. Put us in orbit and engage continuous scans. Let’s try to catch those bastards with their back door open. Shields up.”

Sulu smiled. “Aye, sir. Shields activated.”

“Uhura, hail the Geshian representative.”


	5. Chapter 5

The mission proceeded as many in the Empire did. The captain, James Kirk in this instance, offered support with the sole intent of seizing the dilithium trade in this region. His tactics, it turned out, were more consisted with the behavior of a starship captain. Curiously, the shift in the captain’s stance, his ruthlessness and willingness to let civilians die to obtain dilithium, gave Spock a renewed sense of calm. He recalculated his chances of death in the next twenty-nine hours at seventy-three point nine percent. He did, however, upon further reflection, calculate his chances of assignment to the agony booth at seventy-seven point one percent. Only time would tell.

Spock observed the captain as he communicated with Hu, the Geshian representative. The alien, Spock could see, was slowly beginning to understand that the captain would not help the civilians unless his conditions were met. The Geshian, gesticulating wildly with his four arms, repeatedly refused to be controlled by the Empire. After a few attempts, Kirk merely smirked and waved a hand at him. “That, Master Hu, will make my job all the easier. I wish you and your kind a good death.” The captain motioned for Uhura to cut the connection as the alien sputtered. Kirk turned to Sulu. “Mr. Sulu, keep us in orbit until reinforcements arrive and they can clean up the mess.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sulu responded, tapping his console. 

“If that Romulan ship shows up, sound the red alert. Keep shields up so those bastards don’t catch _us_ with our back door open.”

“I’ll be in my quarters,” Kirk said and turned to Spock. “Mr. Spock, you’re with me.”

Spock nodded and signed out of his station.

Kirk was oddly silent as they stepped into the turbo lift. He gripped the navigation handle and did not speak until they arrived at the officer’s deck.

“We’ll dine in my quarters. I suspect you have no complaints?” Kirk regarded him, face lined with challenge and invitation.

“As you wish,” Spock said without inflection. Once again, and with greater annoyance, he suppressed a stirring of anticipation. 

Spock followed Kirk down the corridor, intently focused on the distance beyond Kirk and resolutely not watching his tight ass in regulation trousers.

The door slid open at the captain’s presence and he motioned for Spock to take a seat. The quarters were much as he had left them, save rumpled sheets on his bed. Spock quickly looked away and focused on Kirk as he moved toward the replicator.

“So, Vulcan food. I assume there is such a thing?”

“Indeed.”

“What would you ordinarily order for dinner, Mr. Spock?”

“As I am a vegetarian, I would order nothing with meat, although you may certainly do so.”

“That is not an answer. What would you order?” Kirk stood at the ready near the replicator.

“Plomeek soup, kreyla, Kir-fal tea,” Spock said blandly.

“Computer, two orders of plomeek soup, kreyla, and Kir-fal tea,” Kirk intoned.

Spock gave his usual explanation of Vulcan cuisine, “I must advise you, Captain, that many humans find plomeek soup bland. In addition, Kir-fal tea is quite bitter.”

Kirk turned, face darkened. “So, what are you saying, Spock? I’m not capable of a finer palate? That human sensitivities are so blunted that burned meat and sugary drinks are all we can consume?”

Spock’s spine stiffened as he regarded Kirk for an extra second. “My apologies, Captain. I was merely conveying information I thought you would find helpful. No offense intended.”

As quickly as the dark look occurred, it vanished. “Apology accepted. _I’ll_ decide what’s right for me. Understood, Commander?”

“Yes, Captain.” Spock nodded in deference, and mentally rebuked himself for his casual attitude. Kirk’s manner was indeed confusing and he would do best to stay at high alert.

A moment later, Kirk slid the replicator door open, pulled out the soups and set them on the table. “Here you go, Spock. Have a seat.” 

Spock rose slowly and took a seat at the table. The tri-D chess set was on a shelf nearby. 

“Would you care to play chess after dinner, Captain?” Spock asked. Despite the sexual activity after the match last time, Spock welcomed a challenging opponent. It would also help him understand this unusual captain all the more.

“We’ll see, Spock,” Jim said, setting out two plates of kreyla. “I have plans for us that may or may not involve chess.”

Spock did not reply, simply unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. 

When the tea was ready, Kirk set it out as well, and sat across from Spock. The Vulcan watched as Kirk drew a spoonful of soup to his lips, tasting delicately. The man had an appealing manner about him.

“That’s quite subtle, isn’t it? Tastes faintly of pumpkin, with a touch of what…citrus? Most interesting.” The captain continued to eat and Spock reached for his spoon. He felt unusually uncertain how to interact with him.

“Those gloves, Spock. Do you sleep with them, too?” Kirk glanced at the Vulcan’s black gloves and crunched on a kreyla biscuit.

“Negative. As a touch telepath, I find the usual thoughts of crew to be…a distraction. I prefer to shield myself to avoid unwanted emotional transference.”

“A distraction, eh? I see. And would you remove them for me? If I asked?” Kirk slid a hand over and touched the leather at the wrist.

“You are my superior officer,” Spock replied, his breath caught behind the words.

“Touch telepath? I can see what an advantage that could offer you. Why not use it?” Kirk’s tone seemed curious enough but Spock recognized it as the ploy it was.

“To be honest, if I may…” Spock looked at Kirk, who nodded slightly. “I find the machinations of humans to be relatively visible without the use of telepathy. You are an emotional race.”

A slow smile spread across Kirk’s face and he moved his hand away from Spock’s. “Indeed,” Kirk said, and Spock was sure he was mocking his way of speaking.

Kirk did not comment further but Spock sensed a feeling of triumph, as if Kirk had come upon some revelation Spock had had no intent to provide. Other commanders before him had attempted to use Spock’s telepathy, only to find themselves falling victim to their own thoughts and emotions. About this, Spock did not comment to Kirk. 

“How long do you think it will take for all the Geshians to die?” Kirk asked, switching the topic of conversation.

“If the mission parameters are accurate, I predict most of the population will be deceased within the next two days. Geshian physiology requires a delicate balance of nutrients and hydration. They are a weak species who appear wholly unsuited to dilithium mining.” 

“What a shame for them,” Kirk drawled. “And the estimated value of the dilithium deposits?”

“Approximately forty million credits, Captain.” 

“Nice. That is a sizable cut for you, commander.” Kirk slurped the last of his soup from the spoon and eased back in his chair to assess Spock.

Spock commented, “It is a fortuitous set of circumstances. My coffers shall benefit.”

“Indeed, Spock. Perhaps I’ll increase the allotment for the rest of the crew. What do you think?”

Spock raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I regard it is highly unusual behavior for a ship’s Captain.”

“Ah, yes. I would imagine so. Well, we wouldn’t want the crew to be too comfortable, would we?” Kirk stretched languidly and watched Spock sip his tea. “How about I just raise your bounty? Say another five percent?” Kirk stroked along own thighs and the energy in the room shifted.

“As you wish,” Spock responded and swallowed the last of his tea. He knew what would come next and felt another unwanted lick of arousal. He was in dire need of meditation to suppress these troubling _human_ responses.

Kirk stared at him, eyes sparkling. “I’m going to fuck you, Spock. And if you’re particularly good, I’ll consider seven percent.”

Spock clenched his hands together under the table. An additional seven percent on top of his usual ten percent would nearly match his earnings for the entire previous year. His father, who demanded forty percent of his earnings, would be pleased. Additionally, Sarek’s continued favor would benefit Spock greatly should it become necessary to kill Kirk. With the financial benefits realized, Spock relaxed and splayed his fingers loosely on his thighs.

Spock met Kirk’s gaze. “As you wish, Captain.” He did not suppress the thrill of anticipation. He would use Kirk as the man used him.

Kirk grinned, clearly enjoying this victory. “Take off your pants.” 

Standing, Spock moved to stand in front of Kirk, undid the metal clasp, and pulled his pants open. He tucked his thumbs into the sides and pushed his pants down to his knees. With no undergarments, in his usual fashion, his bulging slit was revealed, slightly reddened, he imagined.

“Move closer,” Kirk said, reaching out. Spock shuffled forward and Kirk stroked one finger along the slit. Spock sensed muted feelings of arousal and curiosity through his touch. “This is lovely, Mr. Spock.” Kirk stroked more gently than Spock expected, teasing out his penis as he did so. Kirk used his free hand to pull his own cock out of his pants. 

“Ever have anyone fuck your slit? Goddamn, I want a piece of that. Lie on the bed, spread your legs.” Kirk pushed Spock away and strode past him. Spock’s eyes widened. He had no idea how that could possibly work. 

Spock did as he was told, heart racing in his side. He suppressed his physical responsiveness and felt his penis retracting.

Kirk had removed his own pants and boots and approached him, his cock protruding from beneath his command gold. “Aw, little guy doesn’t want to play anymore,” he chided.

Spock did not answer, simply gave way for Kirk to stand between his legs dangling off the bed.

Kirk swirled his finger into his mouth and dragged a trail of saliva toward Spock’s slit. He shoved his finger inside and pushed. A sharp burn slid up Spock’s spine and he suppressed the pain. Kirk stroked inside his slit, alongside his softened penis. He nudged and prodded, making room for more.

“Suppressing your arousal, eh?” Kirk asked and Spock raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yeah, I know something about Vulcans after all. Or probably that delicious Romulan lieutenant I had for an entire week. But, oh, his slit wasn’t half as pretty as yours.” Kirk pushed his finger in the entire way and Spock grunted. The pressure spread unexpectedly through his nearby rectum. 

“He suppressed his pain, too. At least at first. You’ll find, Spock, that without the pain, the pleasure is not half as sweet.”

Spock watched as Kirk inserted another finger into the slit, spreading the skin as wide as it could go. Spock felt the pressure, but kept the pain at bay. As a Vulcan, he could tolerate much.

“Oh, look at that beautiful thing. Let yourself harden, Spock. I don’t want that mushy thing next to my beautiful boy. Do it and I’ll fuck you in the ass later.” To punctuate his point, Kirk shoved a dry finger into Spock’s ass. Spock sucked in air.

Kirk let out an appreciative sigh, gazing upon Spock’s genitals with desire. “Can you imagine me filling you? Fucking every hole, owning you, making you my rich fucktoy of a first officer. Even the Emperor would be jealous.” Kirk worked both fingers inside Spock, brow wrinkled in concentration.

He massaged a few moments longer. “All right, that’s enough.” Kirk withdrew both hands and grabbed lube from his drawer. Spock felt oddly bereft and drew a long silent breath. He knew Kirk’s cock was large and he readied himself for what might come next.

Kirk slathered lube all over Spock’s sheath and asshole, sliding in and out randomly. Seeming satisfied, he coated his own member with lube and pressed himself against Spock’s slit. He worked in two fingers again, more pressure as Spock held his breath and disobeyed by not allowing his penis to harden. 

“So, that’s how we’re playing it? Next time, no lube.” Kirk shoved a third finger into Spock’s sheath and pumped. Spock’s body moved with the force of his thrusts. A moment later, Kirk took himself in hand and pressed himself inside. Spock felt almost none of it. Kirk pushed hard, fucking him forcefully and shoving him up the bed until Kirk had to climb on. Spock kept his eyes on the captain, straining each moment to block the pain. 

Kirk leaned over Spock, biting his neck hard as he thrust his penis into Spock’s slit. With so much effort focused on suppressing his genital pain, he was not prepared for the burst of stinging surprise at his neck. He gasped, faltering, confused by feelings of pain and pleasure, the erotic sensation of Kirk rubbing himself against Spock’s penis. He hardened and Kirk slowed. 

“Ah, Spock. That’s magnificent. Fuck,” Kirk groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, then drawing out slowly. He pushed back in with relish, mouth becoming slack as Spock watched. His skin was stretched so tightly around their two penises that he could hardly breathe. It was possibly the most arousing sensation he had ever felt in his life. 

Without warning, Kirk withdrew and Spock’s erection extended to its full length. With it, Spock gasped and shuddered. He was oversensitive, craving release, his rationality overwhelmed by his physical need.

Kirk grabbed Spock’s penis and stroked him hard a couple of times before letting go. “Turn over,” he commanded.

Blinded by raw need, Spock complied, climbing onto his hands and knees, revealing his ass and heavy-hanging penis to Kirk. His asshole twinged in anticipation. With only two lovers had he ever allowed himself to enjoy anal penetration. And none of them had ever had direct control over his life. This human, this devious, wily, sensuous human had brought him to the brink; he was humbled and frightened. 

“You’re such a slut, Spock. I fucking knew it. The way you sucked my cock last night, I knew you’d be a fucking slut.” Kirk said, arousal thickening his voice. 

The captain gripped Spock’s hips and plunged into him, slamming into his prostate as he did. Spock grunted again, his fingers clutching the sheets. Kirk took a slow, deep pace, stroking Spock’s back and ribs, sometimes roughly, sometimes with a tickling sensation that made Spock shiver. 

With a groan, Kirk started to fuck him harder, slamming deeply into him, grunting with each thrust, insulting him each time, “Take it, slut. You fucking slut. Feel my cock splitting you open. You fucking love some human cock, don’t you. Vulcans and your fine emotional control. Fuck you.” Kirk thrust savagely now, seeming to arouse himself further with the angry words. “Fuck you, Spock. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Kirk began chanting the phrase until it became unintelligible grunts. Finally, with a deep couple of thrusts, he growled a curse, and Spock felt him explode inside him. 

Spock’s own mind was ablaze, fire licking his loins and mind, enthralled more than he could ever admit by the power and control this man had over him. _Kirk!_ he wanted to scream. Deep waves of pleasure washed over him, and he came, too, without warning, silently spilling his seed onto the sheets below.

Breathing heavily, Kirk gave a few more thrusts then withdrew. Spock eased his hips down and to the side, releasing the tightened muscles. His heart was racing, body flushed with post-coital bliss. He dared a look at his captain.

“I’m taking a shower. Get the fuck out.” Kirk gave him a disgusted look and turned away, letting the fresher door slide closed after him. 

Spock heard the whirring of the sonic shower and took a deep breath. His body, his betraying half-human body, continued to shake as he found his pants and boots. He slid them on, fingers clumsy. 

He struggled to understand how he had been compromised, and looked around the room, as if he would find some answer to his miserable question. Spock rose to standing, stiffening his back and glancing in a small mirror. He patted down an unruly lock of hair and examined the bright green teeth marks on his neck. Taking three slow breaths, he felt his body relax, mind becoming centered.

Spock retrieved his sash from the floor and wrapped it neatly around his waist. He tucked his knife against his hip and vaguely envisioned waiting outside the fresher for Kirk so he could end his life. He paused, considering the possibility, then remembered the additional five or seven percent he might receive. He had to stay clear-minded about this matter. Not allow emotion, or lust, to cloud his judgment.

As Spock strode out of Kirk’s quarters, it became clear the human’s obvious skill and apparent favor with the Emperor, could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. And with that, he realized with satisfaction, one day, decades sooner than he had imagined, he would finally earn enough credits to leave the Empire. 

If only he could survive Kirk.


	6. Chapter 6

Meditation deep into the night assisted Spock in properly managing his unexpected emotional and sexual reactions to Kirk. As Vulcan, such lapses would be nearly impossible, save extended torture. But his human side, the putrid emotionality given to him by his father’s human slave, was unusually difficult to temper. Kirk, it seemed, had some power over him he could not explain. 

Already, Spock noticed himself thinking of the captain thirteen percent more than he had considered others before him. Coupled with this preoccupation, Spock found himself deeply attracted to the captain, his raw, forthright seduction, his lack of pretense, and a headier animal instinct to possess, more startling and alluring than he had ever experienced before. It was both troubling and fascinating to be so triggered, and Spock held it with a gentle hand. His human sensitivities, in this instance, might serve him better than ever before — in both personal and professional arenas. 

As Spock prepared for a three-hour rest interval, he attempted to formulate a plan to take advantage of what he sensed was Kirk’s mutual attraction, despite his brusque words after intercourse. Although his hands were gloved, he could sense muted emotions through other physical contact. Kirk’s penis and fingers touching his skin confirmed the attraction, and there was more, some vague sense of familiarity that he could not explain, the sense of a…bond? That was impossible, of course, as his bonding centers had been burned out by his father in the customary Vulcan fashion when he reached nine years old. Since that time, only the bond with his father remained, assuring the elder Vulcan of his forty-percent and Spock’s lifelong loyalty. 

No, it was extremely unlikely, less than one point four percent probability, that he could ever bond with a lover. In that light, it suggested more examination over time to ascertain the familiarity he sensed while in physical contact with Kirk.

Spock folded back the sheet and removed his gloves, placing them on the bedside table. He appraised his hands, feeling a tingling need to place them on Kirk’s face, to explore the man’s mind as deeply as he wished. Again the sensation of almost-knowing — a longing for more arose. He curled his fingers into fists and pushed the desire away. That strategy, the most powerful in his arsenal, he would save for a more dangerous, desperate time.

~*~ 

When he next saw the captain, it was on the bridge as two slave ships approached Geshian Prime. He felt fully rested and took his seat at his science station with nothing more than a curt acknowledgment of the captain upon arrival. 

He scanned the arriving ships. Approximately seven hundred souls in total, eighty-five percent slaves with the customary fifteen percent owner-bosses. These slaves, culled from several subterranean worlds, were ideally suited for dilithium mining and would be in servitude until death. Spock thought greedily of his share of the fourteen million credit bounty and checked the records of the vessel captains. Slavers were widely known to be dishonest and Spock wondered how the captain might approach the situation to adequately protect his share.

“We’re being hailed, Captain,” Uhura said. “Captain Reginald Westheim from the Bullinger requests audience.”

“Put him through,” Kirk said, shifting his stance in the chair to an open-legged, relaxed posture. 

When the man’s dark face appeared, Kirk smiled. “Reggie. Good to see you, man.” 

“Captain,” the man answered, face betraying no emotion.

“Who’s with you? Basinski?” Kirk asked, voice solicitous.

“As if you didn’t know. It’s his second, Victor Mills, on the Endepohl. He runs a tight ship.” The man’s vocal inflections were odd and Spock could detect nothing of value underlying his words.

“Yes, well, Basinski knew better than to skim from me.” Kirk’s face hardened. “I expect the point is well-taken?” 

“Of course, Captain. We are here to serve. With a bounty this valuable, the crews will be very satisfied. I trust you have examined the quarries?”

Kirk chuckled. “Among the stinking dead? No, no. I’ll let your slaves clean it up first.”

“As you wish, Captain. May I extend an invitation to dine and find pleasure aboard my vessel this evening?” For the first time, the man’s eyes glinted with enthusiasm. 

Kirk let out a small sound of pleasure. “Reggie, you know me so well. Mind if I bring my First? Show him your fine hospitality?”

Reggie nodded. “As you desire, Captain. Shall we say one hour?”

“Excellent. Kirk out.” 

As Uhura cut the connection, Kirk stood and looked at Spock. “Meet me in the transporter room in one hour. You have the conn.” Without explanation, Kirk turned and left the bridge.

~*~

Spock completed an additional scan of the slaveships and checked on several of his experiments as he waited for the appointed hour. As he gathered himself to depart the bridge, he sensed anticipation in advance of boarding the ship. 

In many ways, it brought on a strong sense of comfort, as he had spent much of his youth traveling from one slave ship to another along with his father as he conducted inspections of his fleet. Sarek, ever the micro-manager, insisted on his own visits, noting with a keen eye the innermost workings of the captains and crews of the ninety ships he’d amassed over his long life. Of each crew, he demanded full telepathic scans, and for those, his crew were paid well above the market rate for captaining and managing such ships. His brutality, of course, was unparalleled, save the Emperor himself.

Although Spock had not thought of it before, it had been nearly five years to the day since he’d been aboard a slaver, and only then to witness the execution of his brother, Sybok. It had been at his father’s behest, and more than that, an obvious lesson in loyalty. Sybok, as captain of his own slaveship, had dared free his slaves. Sarek’s cold fury had surprised even Spock and the two men watched as Sybok was telepathically tortured before being put to death. 

It was by his father’s permission Spock chose to serve the Empire directly. He had always cited Spock’s human weakness for compassion and, unwilling to murder his son, agreed that he would do better elsewhere. For this unexpected kindness, Spock was grateful. 

Spock surmised the captain knew of Sarek and his enormous slave trade and would not pretend otherwise. Kirk was much too shrewd to ignore something so important. 

As Spock approached the transporter, he mentally prepared himself to interact with the crew of the slaver as an officer of the Empire and a subordinate to the unpredictable whims of Captain Kirk. He was decidedly not visiting as the son of legendary slave trader, Sarek, and adjusted himself accordingly.

Kirk was already waiting when he arrived, chatting amiably with Lieutenant Chu’la. 

“Ah, Spock. Right on time.” Kirk stepped away from the controls and hopped onto the transporter pad. Spock followed and turned to face the Lieutenant.

“Energize,” the captain ordered, and Spock felt the familiar tingle of the transporter. 

The pair materialized onto a transporter pad approximately six times as large as the one on the Enterprise. Impressive, Spock thought, as this level of technological investment had not seemed evident given the shabby condition of the Bullinger’s outer hull. 

A very large human with white-blond hair approached them. “Captain Kirk, Commander Spock. Welcome aboard the Bullinger. My name is Arka. Captain Westheim asked me to escort you to the pleasure quarters.”

“Glad to be here. Looks like you made some upgrades,” Kirk said, gesturing toward the transporter pad. It appeared the captain also found it unexpected.

“We were wasting time and resources transporting ten slaves at a time. Now we can do fifty with minimal losses and deformities.”

“Ah, yes,” Kirk said. “Nothing worse than an idle slave.” He looked at Spock. “Isn’t that right, Commander?”

Spock walked alongside the captain and answered, “Indeed, Captain. I believe the Terran idiom, ‘idle hands are the devil’s playground’ might apply in this situation.” 

Kirk chuckled. “Just right, Mr. Spock.”

The pair followed Arka across a wide platform and into a narrow side corridor. As they traveled down the slightly graded deck, Spock began to smell cooking odors and several flavors of incense and perfume. The pleasure quarters were close. 

The corridor widened slightly and they passed several open doors, through which Spock could see bright fabrics and the faces of several curious sex slaves. Near the end of the corridor, a larger set of doors revealed about a dozen scantily clad slaves arrayed on couches and chairs. A lilting music reached his ears and Spock turned to see a harp being plucked by a four-armed woman—Geshian, if he were not mistaken. 

In the air, he noted the unmistakable odor of Helura, an inhaled sexual stimulant with a notoriously bitter smell. Spock was surprised to find it used so openly, as it was illegal in most of the Empire.

“Captain, do you smell the Helura?” Spock whispered, sensing it important to mention. 

“I do. Curious that Reggie would use it here, especially since I am on board,” Kirk said, glancing at Spock and fingering the knife at his belt. “Keep your eyes open, Commander.”

“Of course, Captain,” he answered, assessing the guards in the room, as well as the physical capabilities of their guide, Arka. 

Arka guided them across the open chamber and through a small door in the back. Inside, he recognized Captain Westheim, who stood as they entered.

“Captain. Welcome.” Westheim extended his hand in greeting and shook with Kirk. “Have a seat.”

Kirk sat casually on the offered chair and regarded Westheim. “How’s business, Reggie? And call me Jim — we’ve known each other a long time.” Spock recognized the ruse of his easy tone and watched the two men carefully.

“Can’t complain, Jim. Business has been slow this last quarter. Sarek bought out one of my ships and now I’m down to four. Bastard.” The man pulled a bottle off a shelf behind him. “Brandurian wine?” he offered.

“Yes, please,” Kirk said, then glanced at Spock. “None for the Vulcan.”

Westheim poured and raised his glass. “To dilithium deposits and wealth beyond our wildest dreams,” he said, and they tapped their glasses together in the human way. 

Kirk downed his drink in one gulp and made an exaggerated shudder. “Damn. That’s good stuff. Surprised you’re still drinking it. It rots the teeth.”

Westheim snorted. “I get along just fine,” he said, in his odd manner, and Spock suddenly understood why he sounded the way he did.

“So, Jim. Mr. Spock. Would you like to eat first or fuck first?” Westheim asked with a toothless grin. “I can arrange either right away.”

A slow smile spread across Kirk's face. “Well, I guess that depends on the menu, now doesn’t it?”


	7. Chapter 7

The harp in the pleasure suite drew Spock’s attention and he wandered close, watching as the Geshian woman plucked the strings with long, delicate fingers. Her face was rapt with concentration as the music reached a crescendo. 

“Quite talented, isn’t she, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, coming close to purr in his ear.

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock said, the hair on his neck prickling.

The captain moved to stand next to him, watching and listening as the Geshian’s fingers sped across the strings, head now bowed in deep concentration, long strands of dark hair cascading over her shoulder. With a dramatic flurry of movements, the music peaked, drawing a desperate, mournful tone from the woman as she completed the piece. There was silence in the room, then her head lifted, sorrow and tears visible on her pale skin.

Kirk nudged Spock with his elbow. “Think she’s aware of where she is? That most of her people are now dead?” 

“I surmise that she does, if her music is any indication.”

“Right, right. Oh, I know! Why don’t you meld with her, Spock, feel her pain and tell me what it’s like.” Kirk seemed giddy with anticipation.

Spock blinked, surprised by his request. He glanced at the captain, then nodded. “As you wish.” 

He approached the woman who looked at him blankly. “I am going to touch your face, do not withdraw.” He pulled the glove off one hand and raised it toward her face.

The woman nodded mutely and Spock placed his hands on her meld points. Immediately, he felt her deep sorrow, the mournful, musical wailing of a woman who was indeed profoundly aware of the demise of her race. Of the sheer helplessness of her position as a slave. Spock shielded his emotions from the woman, protecting her as much as himself, as his human response would have betrayed his own grief. 

“She is mourning, Captain. Her thoughts are dark and slow-moving. Fragments of panic light her mind as she envisions loved ones struggling to survive.”

The woman moved slightly at his words, eyes finding Kirk, who stared hungrily at them. 

“Ah, now, sparks of anger at you, Captain. She has been told of your refusal to aid the Geshians. Oh, such rage and anguish…and now fear, of course.” Spock felt the woman trembling, saw her eyes widen as she realized what Spock was taking from her.

“Oh, that’s delicious, Spock. I am so envious of your telepathy.” Kirk approached and laid his fingers near Spock’s. “Can you show me? Can you share with me what you see?”

Spock swallowed, uncertain of his ability to keep Kirk and himself apart. His shields, already weakened by the man’s presence, were further compromised by the woman’s onslaught of emotions. 

“Allow me to transfer the sensations to you directly. Would you step back?” Spock waited, attempting to give himself a moment to compose his thoughts.

“Ah, of course.” Kirk’s eyes were fixed on the angry eyes of the Geshian woman and he dropped his hand. 

Spock took a breath and used the two seconds he was given to calm himself. “I will touch your face and transfer the memories. It will take only seconds and then I will remove them. Do I have your permission, Captain?”

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.” Kirk turned up his face, offering it to Spock, who suppressed a thrill of pleasure, a tickling of that longing to know this man. Brutally, he forced it down. Nothing — nothing could be more dangerous.

Spock brought the Geshian’s memories to the front of his mind, cordoned off from the rest of his consciousness. With a small inhale, he placed his fingers onto Kirk’s face. A moment later, the snap of entry, a vibrant, unexpectedly strong connection instantly forming before Spock could exhale. With effort, he ignored the call of Kirk’s mind and forced the memories into him. He violently closed off his own mind and dropped his hand as if it burned. Involuntarily, he stepped back.

“Oh, god. Oh my fucking god. That’s… Fuck.” Kirk’s eyes welled with tears, face turning red and he clutched his head, doubling over in apparent pain. “Fuck, Spock. How do you stand it. God, the grief.” Kirk stayed bent over for three seconds before he fell to his knees. He shoved a hand inside his trousers and pulled out his cock. Spock watched in horror as Kirk began to stroke himself. 

“The rawness, Spock,” Kirk muttered, head now thrown back in pleasure as he fisted himself. “You lucky…fuck.” Kirk groaned, low and baleful sounds that spiked Spock’s own arousal, and he could not look away. Kirk was exceptionally beautiful, his mouth open and panting, face contorted into the most delicious pleasure as he wrung an orgasm from himself. “Fuckkkkkk,” he groaned and spurted cum onto the dark carpeting.

After a moment, he wiped his brow and tucked himself back inside his trousers. “Oh, fuck. That was unexpected.” Kirk chuckled, obviously pleased with himsef, and Spock was speechless.

Kirk returned to standing, exhaling to catch his breath and slapping Spock on the shoulder. “That was wonderful, Mr. Spock. Thank you for that.” He grinned, his face lit with satisfaction.

Casually, he stepped away from Spock and looked the Geshian slave up and down. 

“Now kill her.”


	8. Chapter 8

Spock’s mouth dropped open before he could stop himself.

Kirk laughed. “Oh, Spock. Your face.”

Spock closed his mouth and composed his features to neutrality. He took a moment to subdue his whirring emotions and straightened his spine. “Do you actually wish for me to kill the Geshian?”

Kirk tilted his head, as if pondering the answer, although he suspected Kirk knew exactly what he wanted. 

“You know, Mr. Spock. I really would like to watch her die. Maybe while you fuck her? Strangulation? Mind control? Oh, I don’t know — why don’t you surprise me.”

Silently, Spock considered his response. He found murder distasteful and sex with females even more so. The combination left him feeling cold and uninspired.

“Might I offer another suggestion, Captain?” Spock said, eyebrow raised as an idea occurred to him.

“Of course,” Kirk said expansively and Spock decided to tread lightly.

“Might we take her as a slave? I expect her grief will remain for several more months, particularly poignant should we show her the video footage of the remains of her people. It appears you find her grief…pleasurable.”

Kirk stared at him for a moment, then approached, their faces close. “Are you suggesting you will provide me with further sampling of her grief? Her impotent rage?” Kirk chuckled darkly, puffing warm air onto Spock’s face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were attempting to manipulate me…get me hooked, as it were. Am I reading this correctly, Mr. Spock?” Kirk’s voice became deadly low.

Spock retreated. “I find her useless to me, and hardly worth your ire to use the pathetic creature as a manipulation tool. I shall fuck her and kill her if you like, Captain. I live to serve.”

Kirk’s eyes glinted with menace as he seemed to consider Spock’s words. “And you do, Spock. You serve me, exactly as I prefer, and without subterfuge. I’ll know, Spock, and if you ever attempt to ensnare me again with such delicacies, I’ll have your head.”

“Yes, Captain. Shall I proceed?” Spock moved his hands toward his trousers.

Kirk’s face twisted into a disgusted moue. “Eh. I’ve lost the taste for it. Just kill her.” He waved a dismissive hand at the Geshian and turned away to stride out of the room.

Spock watched him leave, exhaling slowly as he regained his composure. He had not meant to manipulate Kirk, but he realized now how it must have sounded to the paranoid human. Indeed, he solely wanted to avoid touching her sexually.

Considering his options, Spock approached the Geshian woman. He spoke to her in low tones. “I am going to kill you, but first I will have your name.”

“Freya,” she answered, lip trembling.

“Freya, I shall give you a choice. I have the ability to kill you without pain and would be pleased to do so. On one condition.”

“Yes?” she answered, eyes wide.

“You shall play your harp once more. In the crescendo of the work, I will touch your face and your life will end.”

The woman made a frightened sound and opened and closed her mouth.

“If you resist, for even one moment, I will rip your mind apart and you will die an agonizing death.” Spock folded his arms in front of him.

“I-I love to play.” She swallowed. “May I play what I desire?”

“Of course. Is that your decision?” Spock asked. He always attempted to give his victims a choice.

“Yes. I will play. Thank you for your mercy,” the woman gave a small bow and tilted the harp into playing position.

Spock watched as she began to pluck the strings, demurely, almost with childlike motions until the piece grew more complex and she became lost in it. Her face became alight with pleasure as the melody unfolded, casting its resonant beauty throughout the room. Spock gently touched her face, indulging himself by dipping into the pleasure of her skill and devotion to her craft. 

Instantly, his mind was filled with the deeper melody in her mind, faceted with several more instruments — a drum, another smaller stringed instrument, a voice. The sounds of the vocalist intertwined with the harp, infusing it with warmth and significance. He did not understand the language, but the sentiment was love and wonderment, as if a parent to a child. Spock began to recognize the other accompanying feelings. This was a song of childhood, played with tender memories flashing across Spock’s mind. 

As the music rose, he gathered himself, preparing to sever the life’s energy flowing through her consciousness. In this regard, he allowed his human half to take control, sensing the proper moment as if he were conducting the music of her life. He listened and felt and allowed himself to submerge into her internal world. At the perfect opportunity, as the music softened, he snapped her consciousness, severing it sharply along with any recognition of her death-awareness. For her, she simply ceased. 

A moment later, her body recognized the absence of life, and slumped against the harp, causing both it and the Geshian to tumble forward to lie in a tangled heap. Spock sprang back, getting out of the way of the fall and bumped into the wall behind him. He touched it with his finger, feeling the rough texture and grounding himself to allow his mind to naturally settle. He mentally tasted her life and death and enjoyed the complexities of her final song, as no one else ever had. 

As attendants rushed in to clean up the mess, Spock savored the final remnants of her existence, smiled faintly, and placed the entire experience behind a fortified wall, along with many of his most cherished memories. There she would remain, well-hidden from any telepathic scans, until he should desire to listen to her music again.


	9. Chapter 9

Fifty-six minutes after Freya’s death, the Captain appeared at the pleasure room door. “Mr. Spock, we’re leaving.”

“Aye, Captain,” he said, drawing himself up out of a chair and skimming his hands along his hips to smooth his uniform.

“I trust you executed your duties as ordered, Commander?”

“Of course. It was quite pleasurable.” In this Spock did not lie. He generally disliked killing for the senselessness of it. The Geshian, however, had given him a pleasurable experience in return and thus it was logical to say so.

“Excellent. Reggie’s not happy about it, but he’ll get over it. He’s paid handsomely for his slaves.”

“Indeed,” Spock intoned, walking alongside the captain toward the transporter.

“Would you have liked her?” Kirk asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

“If you would clarify?” he responded.

“The Geshian. Would you have liked her for your own pleasure? Perhaps playing at your command?” 

“I do not keep slaves, Captain. Of this, I am sure you are aware.” 

“Right, right. That’s your father, Sarek, yes? The famous slave master and second only to the Emperor in ruthlessness and cunning.”

“If you insist,” Spock answered, finding the rumors to be mostly true, although his own existence spoke of another, deeper sense of kindness the man must have possessed.

“I never could understand why you’d choose the Empire over slave trading. All these regulations and orders…why not be second in command of the largest slave fleet in the Empire? Succeed your father when he dies.” Kirk gave him wide, fascinated eyes. “The credits, Spock. So much wealth…”

“I am second in command, Captain. I enjoy science and the Empire was a logical choice which put much expertise at my ready.” Spock spoke matter-of-factly. His motivations were not hidden.

“But second in command? Why not command your own ship? Plunder? Use that powerful mind of yours to _take_ what you want!” Kirk balled his hand into a fist and pumped it in the air.

“Captain—” Spock started.

“—I know, I know. You prefer science and are ‘content to be a lesser target.’ I remember.” Kirk’s mouth formed a thin line and Spock stayed silent. 

Shortly, they emerged into the large deck housing the transporter. They crossed side-by-side, with Spock only half a step behind his captain. The operator greeted them and motioned for them to step onto the pad.

With no further words spoken between them, the transporter beamed them back to the Enterprise. Spock felt a sense of satisfaction that he had emerged unscathed from the slave vessel.

“With me, Commander,” Kirk said as they strode out of the transporter room. Kirk had an irritated air about him.

They stepped into the turbo lift and Kirk grabbed the controls. “Officer’s deck,” he stated, staring ahead and ignoring Spock. This change in attitude, the lack of solicitousness and congeniality sent a frisson of worry through Spock’s mind.

A moment later, Kirk paged the bridge and Uhura answered.

“Lieutenant. On speaker,” Kirk said without preamble.

“Mr. Chekov,” Kirk barked as soon as Uhura confirmed. “Set a course for Vulcan. Mr. Sulu, warp factor six. Engage at your ready.”

Sulu and Chekov spoke simultaneously, “Aye, Captain,” and tapped on their consoles.

A shot of fear surged through Spock. “Vulcan, sir?” he asked calmly, looking at Kirk, who stood unmoving in the turbo lift.

Kirk smirked and glanced at him with a devious expression. “A small detour at my whim, Commander.” 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock said, nodding deferentially.

“Estimated time of arrival on Vulcan, Mr. Sulu?” Spock spoke up, asking the helmsman.

“Seventeen hours, eleven minutes, Mr. Spock.”

“Very good, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said. “You have the conn. Kirk out.” The connection closed just as the turbo lift doors opened.

“Can I be of additional service to you, Captain? My shift is at an end and I would like to retire to my chambers.”

“Request denied,” Kirk answered without comment and led them toward his quarters.

Spock took several long, surreptitious breaths to renew his focus. The two melds had been more taxing than he realized and he desired meditation.

Kirk arrived at his door and waved it open. “Get undressed and get on the bed.” 

Spock stayed silent and walked toward the bed, reviewing his earlier conversations with Kirk but uncertain what had brought on this intense mood.

Turning, Spock faced the captain, desperation licking at his heels. “May I ask if I have displeased you, Captain?” 

“You’re still dressed,” Kirk said, pressing his chest against Spock’s. He tilted his head. “Unless you are refusing?” 

“Not at all, Captain. A simple inquiry as I sensed a shift in your mood as we left the Bullinger.”

“Ah, Spock. You have known me such a short time and already attuned to my moods.” Kirk dragged a hand down Spock’s cheek. On the surface, he sensed muted amusement, and a deeper, darker emotion he could not easily identify beneath.

“It is the duty of the First Officer to anticipate the Captain’s desires. I am merely performing my duties.” Spock inhaled Kirk’s scent, arousal sliding up his spine once more.

“Ah, your duty. And is it your duty to please your captain?” Kirk asked, taking a small step back to peel off his shirt. His sculpted chest invited Spock’s touch, but Spock resisted.

“It is my duty,” Spock confirmed.

“Then take your clothes off and get on the bed,” Kirk said through suddenly clenched teeth. He was teetering on rage and Spock had no idea why.

With slow and deliberate movements, Spock slipped the knife out of his sash and untied the gold fabric. Kirk watched as he did so, his body taut with readiness. Spock simply laid the items on a small table and slipped out of his shirt. He lifted one booted foot after the other to unzip his boots and toed them off. With Kirk’s eyes watching him, he loosened his trousers and pushed them down and off. When he was done, he stood proudly for Kirk to appraise.

“You’re mine now, Spock,” Kirk said, purring with possessiveness. 

Spock said nothing, refusing to acknowledge the words. He belonged to no one, except himself — and maybe his father if it came down to it. Even the Emperor would have to kill him first to possess him fully.

Kirk reached between Spock’s legs to stroke his slit, roughly inviting his penis to emerge. Spock allowed it, sensing hesitation could end his life.

“You want me, don’t you?” Kirk asked, gripping Spock’s penis and stroking it.

“Yes,” Spock answered without inflection. There was no other response. Internally, he waged war against his rising lust, the betraying longing he felt, to own and possess this captain as the captain was professing to possess him. 

Kirk pulled at his penis, dragging him forward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Kirk pushed him down and released his penis to grab his own. “I want what you took from her,” Kirk said, gazing at him with determination.

“Clarify, Captain,” Spock said, allowing himself to enjoy Kirk’s demonstration.

“I want what you took from the Geshian you killed. She gave you pleasure. I want it.” Kirk settled between Spock’s legs and added lube to his fingers. He slathered it on Spock’s asshole and inserted a finger. He stroked, hooking to brush against his pleasure center. 

“I merely witnessed her death,” Spock said, suddenly defensive.

“Bullshit,” Kirk said, adding another finger. “You took more than her grief and fear. Because that doesn’t turn you on, does it? Not like me.” Kirk thrust his fingers harder and gripped Spock’s penis again. 

“No,” Spock answered tightly, the word feeling ripped from him. His shields were faltering and he felt fear for his very soul. What was this man doing to him?

Kirk withdrew his fingers and lined up his cock to penetrate him. Spock clenched automatically, wanting to refuse but feeling he could not. It was sex, a fuck, a nothing interaction with his captain. He would not waste his opportunity for refusal. Not yet, not for this. He could withstand it.

Without comment, Kirk pushed inside Spock, filling him with his thickness. He pushed in slowly, torturously and hovered over Spock, eyes boring into his as if he could divine some weakness just through looking. 

Kirk dropped his head and bit Spock’s nipple hard. The Vulcan jerked, surprised. When Kirk lifted his head, he had a spot of green blood on his lip. Spock gazed at the blood, then back at Kirk. 

“Give it to me, Spock,” Kirk said again, and reached above Spock’s head to grip the edge of his gloved hand. “Meld with me. Show me what you got from her.” He thrust deeply as he spoke, challenging Spock’s wit and will to refuse. 

Spock clenched his fist. “No, Captain. You do not want a meld. You must trust me.” Spock felt a sense of foreboding, a fear as deep as he had experienced as a child. His mind screamed against the possibility.

“Fuck you, Spock. You. Will not. Withhold. From. Me.” Kirk punctuated his words with thrusts, deep and forceful. He ripped at Spock’s gloved hand.

“No!” Spock cried, holding his fist firm. His life, his very soul, depended on refusing his captain. He bucked his hips one time, attempting to unseat Kirk. The captain drew back and struck him again, harder than the last time. Spock felt hot blood in his mouth.

“Do you refuse, Spock?” Kirk stilled, his face surprised. “Is this using your get out of jail free card? One order refused, without comment? The only one you will ever receive.” 

Kirk stared at Spock, unmoving inside him and waited for his answer. Spock’s mind whirled with confusion, a deep, primal pressure forcing his will aside, a burning craving like none he had ever experienced forced its way into his consciousness. _Want. Have. Desire._

Spock closed his eyes tightly, refusing to look at his captain. Trying with all his might to reject him. As if by his body’s own accord, his fist slackened and Kirk huffed in victory. His entire body seemed to collapse under his humanity’s senseless wantings. He had utterly failed.

Kirk peeled off Spock’s glove and threw it aside. He began thrusting again and sucked one of Spock’s fingers into his mouth. The Vulcan shuddered with pleasure, cock bobbing against his stomach. He thrust up, needing his lover deeper.

Like a Cheshire cat, Kirk smiled, pleasure and desire bringing his face alive. He thrust over and over again, licking each finger in turn until he had sucked on them all. 

“I want you to ride me, then do the meld. Give me her gift.” Kirk shifted off Spock, leaving him empty, and laid down beside him on the narrow bed. Spock thought briefly of running, but it was as if a long tether had been attached to this human, breaking his will to escape. 

Spock climbed on top of the captain, spreading his legs and rolling his eyes closed as he mounted him. He lifted up and down, taking him in over and over again until Kirk grabbed his hand and placed it near his own face. Spock gasped, feeling the sharpening need to merge. 

“Captain, I will warn you once again. Do not insist on this,” Spock said, making one more valiant effort to save himself.

“Do it,” Kirk said, shoving Spock’s fingers against his face.

Their minds met in an explosion of color and passion. Spock was out of control, riding Kirk with abandon as his mind gorged on the Captain’s bright and dynamic consciousness. Kirk shouted his pleasure as Spock rode him. 

Through the meld, Spock sensed Kirk’s passion, his desire to dominate, his intense need for ownership of all beings. Spock submitted to his desire, threading himself into Kirk’s consciousness even as he sensed a rising panic in the human’s mind. 

“The gift, Spock!” Kirk gasped. “What did she give you?”

Spock broke down the barriers to his memories, retrieving the newest ones and thrust them at Kirk. Music, deep and resonant, filled their minds, shared together along with the binding emotions. Love and belonging and devotion. They were swept up in them, twined together in an unbreakable, permanent way. Spock realized it as it occurred and panic suffused his mind. _No!!!_ he cried out and broke from the meld.

He tumbled off the bed, landing hard on his back. He gasped for air, struggling to find himself again. Kirk’s semen poured out of his rectum. He had not even known he’d achieved orgasm. 

Panting, he lay there, uncertain what to do. Only the captain… _Jim_ could inform him now. His own judgment, his very logic, had been supplanted by this human. 

He had nowhere left to turn.


	10. Chapter 10

Spock hobbled back to his quarters, caring not if another person should see him. His mind was ablaze with regret and panic. He clutched the wall, holding on until he could make it to his quarters. 

He stumbled through the door, falling on the floor and gasping for breath. His bonding center bubbled with searing pain, a reckoning of Kirk’s bright, devious mind now fully joined with his. It should have been impossible, Spock wailed to himself. He curled into a ball, feeling the intrusion as acutely as a knife through his heart. He was possessed, his free will removed as his father had warned would happen should he ever bond. It was something he feared greatly, a childhood fear, strengthened by his father’s own painful connection to him.

It was only through Sarek’s grace his father did not control him directly, as he well could. He had offered him freedom in exchange for information, spying as it were, on the Empire. Each quarter, he met his father to telepathically share every encounter he’d had the previous three months. It was the singlemost powerful secret he held and now it might be available to Kirk — an agent of the Emperor!

Panic quaked through Spock once more, his years of effort destroyed by a human with deeply dangerous ambitions. His loyalty to his father now in question, Spock was grateful they were traveling to Vulcan. 

_Yes,_ he thought, sitting up sluggishly. _His father was a powerful telepath — he could break the bond and they would kill Kirk. It was the only answer._

Relief flooded through Spock, and then he thought to close off his mind. The captain seemed unaware of their bond, simply enjoying Spock’s discomfiture instead. He’d sent him away without another word, seemingly unconcerned. In time, Spock knew, that would not remain true.

He righted himself by pulling himself up to standing with the aid of a chair. He had to find himself again, center his mind, shield as thoroughly he was able for the next sixteen hours. He had no choice if he desired to live.

~*~

Deep into his sleep cycle, Spock was woken abruptly and dragged from his bed. He came alert instantly and struck his assailant, knocking him across the room. He swiveled to find another red-shirted ensign holding a phaser on him. 

“Commander! The captain’s ordered you to the agony booth. If you continue to resist, I will stun you.”

Spock’s eyes widened and he shook with anger. He clenched his fists and took several centering breaths. 

“I see. If I may retrieve my gloves?” He asked, making his voice calm.

“Sure.” The ensign said, tracking Spock as he moved. Slowly, he pulled on his gloves, all the while establishing internal shields and burying his secret under as many layers of mental protection as he could manage.

“I am ready,” Spock said, heading toward the door. He held his head high and proceeded to the agony booth.

When they arrived, the captain was absent. “Lieutenant, where is Captain Kirk?”

“In his quarters, sir. He gave orders not to be disturbed.” The lieutenant flicked a switch and the lights on the booth brightened. 

“And may I inquire as to the reason for the punishment?” 

The lieutenant scanned his screen. “Insubordination, Second Degree.”

“I see. Very well, Lieutenant. I am ready.”

“Sorry about this, Commander,” the lieutenant said. 

“Your apologies are unnecessary and unprofessional. Consider yourself on report. You have lost two days of shore leave for the next cycle.”

The man gasped and hit the button that released the booth door. “Yes, sir.” 

Spock walked directly into the booth. He stared at the lieutenant at the controls and nodded once. He sat in his meditation pose at the bottom of the booth and closed his eyes. A moment later, the lights began to flash, and his body jerked in pain. He seized control of his pain centers, spreading endorphins for pain management while he severed mental awareness of each limb of his body. More carefully and with stuttering levels of pain through his spine and neck, he slowly and systematically reduced the effect of the booth. 

He was unable to cease the pain completely, but it was, for the most part, tolerable. His body still sensed the pain and his limbs shot out in response at times to overwhelming stimuli. This went on for approximately four minutes until it abruptly ceased. Surprised, Spock looked to the lieutenant again, noting his pale face.

Fourteen seconds later, the booth door popped open. Spock glanced at it and once again to the operator. “Lieutenant?” he asked.

“You’re done, Commander. You can exit the booth.” The lieutenant walked to the booth and gazed down at him.

Spock looked up at him and mentally released his jaw and vocal cords to speak. “The penalty for Insubordination, Second Degree is fourteen minutes. Why has the punishment ceased after only four minutes?”

“Captain’s orders, sir.”

“How did he transmit these orders, Lieutenant?,” Spock asked.

“Over the comms, sir. He cursed and told me to stop immediately. Didn’t give an explanation.” The lieutenant’s voice was remarkably steady given how scared he appeared to be. 

“I see. I will need a few moments to compose myself. Please return to your post.”

“Yes, sir.” The man gave a formal salute and scurried away, leaving Spock to wonder as to the nature the interrupted punishment.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on the nerves; vertebra by vertebra he worked down his spine, then outward to regain sensation in his limbs. Finally, he released his hands and squeezed them several times into fists. 

After a quick scan to confirm normalcy, Spock rose and stepped out of the booth. As no guards were present, Spock simply left and returned to his quarters. He had no sense of what to do and would simply wait to be summoned by his captain.

~*~

Spock meditated for twelve hours before his door chime alerted him. He exhaled and brought his focus back to his quarters. 

“Enter,” he called out and was surprised to see Doctor McCoy standing in the corridor.

“Doctor, please come in,” Spock said and motioned him inside.

“Yeah, thanks.” McCoy stepped in and looked around. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

“I prefer it, Doctor. How can I help you?”

McCoy appraised him for a long moment. “It’s Kirk. He came to sickbay complaining of a headache and wanting pain meds.”

“Yes, and why is this of import?”

“Captains never admit pain, Spock. You know it and I know it.”

Spock affected a human shrug. “Perhaps Kirk is different.”

“Different, my ass. Worse, if you ask me. And unless he’s hitting on me, which I highly doubt, there’s no way he’d appear for a ‘headache’. It’s something worse and I want to know what it is.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Curious, Doctor. Am I to assume you are seeking out my guidance so that we might form an alliance, should the captain seek to remove one of us?”

“Well, I didn’t say that, now did I? I’m askin’ cause I’m the ship’s doctor and I wanna know if my patients have some crazy condition that could affect our revenues.”

“Ah,” Spock smirked slightly. “Revenues would be at risk with an impaired captain.”

“Well, of course, you stupid Vulcan. Or did your daddy’s wealth make you forget how the rest of us pinch and save just to get to retirement.”

“I am certain your suffering is profound, Doctor, but I have no insights to offer. I suggest you give the captain his yearly physical and reassure yourself.”

“Yeah, nice try. Last time a captain willingly submitted to a physical, the Emperor was still in diapers.” McCoy screwed up his face in frustration. “There’s something going on with this new captain and I mean to find out what it is.”

“I wish you luck, Doctor, and I suggest you watch your back.”

“Yeah, well tell me something I don’t already know.” McCoy rolled his eyes and stepped toward the door. He paused as the door slid open. “And you watch your back, too. Kirk seems obsessed with you — and that’s never good.”

“Thank you for the warning, Doctor. Good day.” Spock nodded and watched as the doors closed behind him.

~*~

As the ship drew closer to Vulcan, Spock retrieved a new uniform and dressed himself for his arrival. It seemed strangely ominous to return to his homeworld on the anniversary of his brother’s death, but those feelings, so human in nature, were best ignored. It was his father’s secret communication that most set Spock on edge. He had heard of their impending arrival and made it known he would expect a visit.

As he tightened his sash and tucked his knife at its proper place, he reviewed his strategy for the interview with his father. He was certain his father must be aware of the change he had experienced with Kirk, even if he was not sure of the exact nature. Once, three years prior, when Spock had been gravely injured by an assassination attempt, his father messaged him after a safe interval to inquire as to his health. Spock was gratified by his interest in that instance, but this time he was not so certain. 

Sarek was notoriously jealous and possessive, much like James Kirk, if he were to be honest. He held his possessions on a tight leash and afforded only the favor earned through loyalty (and routine mind melds). Spock’s mind, well-attuned to his father’s methods, had achieved some success in shielding information he did not wish to disclose. It was a method he’d instituted when Sarek had discovered the remnants of a lover in Spock’s memories. Sentimentality, it seems, was only acceptable in himself.

Spock straightened his spine and appraised himself in the mirror. He adjusted his medals and deemed himself adequate. He pulled a small package out of a drawer and tucked it under his arm.

Before he left his quarters, he glanced around to recall every feature in sharp detail. Just in case he did not return.


	11. Chapter 11

With his first breath of Vulcan air, Spock felt himself shift to a place of strength. His homeworld, stark and stunningly beautiful, always filled him with a sense of calm. He had embraced his Vulcan heritage for his entire life, modeling himself off his father’s stoicism and learning the ways of Surak. He liked to think he had succeeded, despite his liaison with Kirk. That, he realized, was largely out of his control, save offering his own death, which he was not willing to do.

No, Kirk was a problem to be solved, a puzzle to be assembled, just a simple human man who could be defeated. Spock had not really considered assassinating the man until he’d emerged from his meditation several hours prior. He believed, with his father’s assistance, their unwanted bond could and would be severed, giving Spock the freedom to end Kirk’s life at the first opportunity.

He strode through the halls of Sarek’s headquarters, gazing at the priceless antiquities adorning the walls. Sarek had amassed them during his seventy-five years of slave trade. Each piece, Spock knew, had been approved by Sarek, as was his wont. Spock knew him to be a man of impeccable taste, and walked slowly, admiring each piece and surmising the appeal each had for his father. 

Kirk, he had been told, had beamed to the surface eighteen minutes prior, only sending word for Spock five minutes ago. He wondered at the man’s strategy, tried to imagine what he could possibly attain by meeting with Sarek alone. 

No matter, he would deal with the situation as it arose.

As Spock approached his father’s office, he fortified his shields once more, adopting the strategy of subtle misdirections that would shift Sarek away from the real secrets toward other secrets more obvious for him to find. Spock, with many years of practice, did not worry his father’s probes would uncover more than Spock wished. However, he had to admit to a deep apprehension about Kirk’s ability, however new, to destroy whatever barriers he had erected. Sarek would never do such a thing without provocation, but Kirk… he was a man with an unquenchable curiosity, and that made it all the more dangerous for their minds to be connected.

His father’s assistant, a wizened old Vulcan named Sovel stood as Spock entered. 

_”T'nar pak sorat y'rani,”_ Sovel said, his eyes warm.

 _”T'nar jaral,”_ Spock replied, allowing his mouth to curve slightly. He had known this Vulcan his entire life and held few secrets from him. His father, unusually, melded only rarely with him, which spoke of the intense relationship between the two men.

“Spock, your father is meeting with Captain Kirk and wishes not to be disturbed. May I offer you a beverage?” Sovel asked, shuffling his one-hundred eighty year old body out from behind his desk.

“No, Sovel. I am adequate. Do not allow me to interrupt your work.”

“It is no interruption. It has been two years since we last met and I admit to curiosity about your adventures.” Sovel had an almost human way of expressing himself — a “quirk” of age, he had once described it to Spock. 

Spock allowed himself to feel a surge of affection for his elder. “Much has happened, Sovel, although nothing more dangerous than has occurred in the last forty-seven hours. As you saw, the Enterprise has a new commander, right out of the Emperor’s Winged Legion.” 

“I met him and found him quite congenial. He is very emotional, Spock.”

“As all humans are, Sovel.” Spock glanced at the oversized double doors hiding the meeting between Sarek and Kirk, willing them to open.

Sovel followed his gaze. “You are nervous, Spock. Do not be. You are your father’s only son and he feels deeply for you. Too deeply, many say.”

“They are simply jealous of his wealth and would encourage him to eliminate his heir and thus redirect his wealth to Vulcan itself. Many coffers would overflow, would they not?”

“Indeed, Spock. You are wise beyond your years.” Sovel humored him — the intent behind the rumors was obvious.

The heavy doors creaked to reveal the brightly lit suite of offices occupied by his father. “It appears you are being summoned,” Sovel noted, with humor in his voice.

“Indeed. It was pleasurable to see you once more, Sovel. I wish you long life.”

“Peace, Spock,” the old Vulcan muttered, half-turning already to resume his position at the desk.

Spock smoothed his uniform and approached the doors with a blank expression. His boots tapped on the marble floor as he walked down the corridor, and stopped at the open door of his father’s personal office.

“Spock,” his father said, turning away from Kirk to greet him. He raised the ta’al and Spock returned it before letting his hands rest at his sides. He glanced at Kirk and found him unremarkable.

“I have been conversing with your new Captain, Spock. Will you both be seated please?” He motioned to a foursome of golden yellow chairs and they all sat. “I would offer you a beverage, Spock, but I know you will decline.”

“Yes, father,” Spock answered, searching his face for clues to his mood. He seemed placid enough, but he was not fooled.

“Captain Kirk was telling an interesting story about the Geshian people, from whom you have recently acquired a sizeable cache of dilithium.”

“Yes, father. It will be quite profitable. And Captain Kirk has been most generous in his distribution of my portion.” Spock looked at Kirk for a reaction, but found nothing but a pleasant smile.

“My thanks, Captain.” Sarek nodded deferentially. “It is indeed rare to find generosity among such high-ranking officers.”

Kirk’s smile hardened a fraction. “You will find, Sarek, I am very much unlike other officers in the Empire. And as you are well aware, I have been lauded, hunted, and sought for alliance. It is the latter of the three about which we have come.”

“Ah, yes. Down to business, as Terrans say.” Sarek’s tone was even, but Spock detected an irritated flicker at his brow.

“Right. Yes,” Kirk said, and took a breath. “Spock and I recently visited a slaver I’ve used several times in the past couple of years. Reggie Westheim of the Bullinger. He has a sister ship, the Endepohl. They’re good for a job requiring fewer than a thousand slaves. Perfect for Geshian, of course.” Spock could see Kirk was turning on his charm.

“I am aware of the two vessels you’ve described. I have several competitors,” Sarek stated.

Kirk chuckled. “I would hardly call them competitors. More like flies on the prize stallion.”

“As you say, Captain,” Sarek agreed. Spock watched the two men interact, much like two _tchakarya_ circling each other to fight for a mate.

“I would like to strengthen _our_ alliance, Sarek. It seems reasonable that with your son as my second, an alliance between us would be advantageous.”

“Yes, Captain. I can see the logic in your proposal. My sources show you as an ambitious and wealthy man for one so young. My accounts would surely flourish from such an alliance.”

“Yes,” Kirk agreed, leaning toward Sarek.

“But I am afraid I must decline.”

“Decline? Why? What do you have to lose?” Kirk gestured widely with his hands.

“Two years ago, Spock and I agreed to avoid formal business arrangements between us. We shall not retreat from that agreement.”

“But family…who else could offer such assurances of loyalty?”

Spock finally spoke, “In many cases, Captain, I would agree. In this instance, however, family bonds did not prevent the profound betrayal of my brother, Sybok.”

“Your brother? What did he do?” Kirk’s curiosity burst to life.

“He freed his slaves,” Sarek intoned, voice hard.

“Ah, yes,” Kirk said, feigning sympathy. “That is quite a betrayal.” 

“Indeed.” Sarek agreed. “And in valuing my remaining son’s life, I refrain from direct involvement in his claims. So, respectfully, I must refuse. I am gratified you have visited Vulcan and have allowed me to see my son once more.” Sarek stood, indicating an end to the meeting.

“I invite you to dine with me this evening. My chef prepares the finest in both Vulcan and human cuisine. Shall we meet in two hours?” 

“Fine, fine,” Kirk said, offering up quick agreement. Spock sensed a dangerous edge to his manner.

“Spock, I wish to speak to you privately. Captain, do you wish to wait or would you like to refresh yourself in one of my guest chambers?”

“I’ll let you have the time. It’s been, what, four months since you’ve seen each other?” Kirk smirked. “Take your time.” He turned to Spock. “Report to me when your meeting is concluded.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

“Very well. Nice to meet you, Sarek. I’ll see you later.” Kirk turned on his heel without a second glance at either Vulcan, and strode confidently out of the room. 

Spock watched him walk away, suddenly aware Kirk had known about Spock’s last meeting with Sarek, despite its covert nature. He looked at his father and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you apprise Kirk of our last meeting?” Sarek questioned.

“Negative. His spies are apparently quite good. I am beginning to suspect Kirk’s request to join the Enterprise was no mere coincidence. He has been quite solicitous toward me since he arrived.” Spock turned to his father.

“And you, Spock? I sense a difference in you about which I desire an explanation.” His father’s eyes were intense, searching his face. “May I have your thoughts?”

“I would prefer a verbal explanation first, father, before we initiate a meld.”

“As you wish, Spock.” Sarek settled back in his chair and gave Spock an expectant expression.

“First, let me begin by stating the aim of this conversation is nothing short of plotting to assassinate Captain Kirk. My very life depends upon it, Father.”

“But assassination is a simple matter, Spock.” Sarek said with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, father, usually. But in this instance, there exists one difficult obstacle to be overcome.” Spock paused, betraying his nervousness.

“Captain Kirk is my bondmate.”


	12. Chapter 12

Spock found the captain ninety minutes later, lounging in a guest chamber on the second level of Sarek’s apartments. His manner seemed relaxed, but Spock was not fooled.

“Ah, Commander, please come in. I’m enjoying some of this Andorian brandy. Join me?”

“No, thank you, Captain. Alcohol does not affect me.” Spock adopted a casual pose, but stayed ready for action.

“Ah, but I insist. It’s rude to make me drink alone.” Kirk poured the dark purple liquid into a small glass and offered it to Spock.

Spock took the glass and nodded. He detested Andorian brandy — its sweetness dulled his taste sensation.

“To profit!” Kirk said, clinking his glass lightly against Spock’s. Kirk drank and watched as Spock did the same. Spock suppressed a gag as the alcohol slid down his throat.

Kirk paced around the room. “Damn shame about your brother, Spock. To sour the ability for profitable relations…it’s just too bad.” 

“As you say, Captain. It was an unexpected turn of events.”

“Ah, yes, betrayal is just that, is it not? Always unexpected.” Kirk smirked at him.

“Indeed. Sybok had always been one to question father. It is remarkable, actually, he survived as long as he did in Sarek’s care.”

“Ah, but you, Spock. You’re perfectly loyal, aren’t you? What a proud papa you must have.” Kirk’s tone was outright mocking him now.

“Loyalty among Vulcans is as prized as logic, Captain.” Defensiveness seeped into Spock’s tone as he registered a fourteen percent drop in the effectiveness of his shields.

“Yes, but loyalty to whom? Your father, your captain, the Empire?” Kirk whirled to face him. “How will you choose, Spock?”

“I find no choice necessary, Captain,” Spock said as blandly as he could. 

“Ah, perhaps at present, but soon, Spock. Soon, you might find a choice will present itself.” Kirk approached him and laid a warm hand on his genital mound. Despite his shields, Spock’s penis responded, twitching behind the slit. 

Spock raised a brow but did not reveal his arousal. “Please clarify.”

Kirk rubbed him through his trousers. “Patience comes to those who wait,” Kirk responded, leaning forward to lick Spock’s jaw. His breath was hot against Spock’s ear when he spoke once more. “I will have you now, Spock. An aperitif, as it were.”

Spock didn’t answer, knowing refusal would jeopardize his plans with his father. Instead, he focused on his shields, resisting the call of Kirk’s mind, but allowing arousal to come forth.

Kirk unfastened Spock’s trousers and slid a hand inside. He teased his slit, stroking from end to end and sliding a finger inside. Spock sucked in air and Kirk grinned. “Oh, you love it, don’t you. Slut that you are.” He continued to rub until Spock’s penis emerged. He gripped it lightly and tugged until it hardened.

“I want to taste you, Spock,” Kirk said and unexpectedly dropped to his knees, shocking Spock with his submissiveness. Never had he experienced a superior officer in this position. It was unbelievably arousing.

Kirk yanked his pants down and took Spock’s penis into his mouth, engulfing the entire shaft in wet heat. Spock trembled, arousal swift and potent through his body. As Kirk sucked, Spock struggled to separate arousal and need, the bond flaring brightly behind his shields, beckoning him. _No!_ Spock protested, as he always seemed to with this man, but his mind ignored him. 

Spock looked down to see Kirk loosening his own pants and fisting his erection. The man’s breath was choked as he sucked and Spock threaded his fingers through Kirk’s hair. He had never touched it before, and its silky texture was alluring. He wrapped a strand around his finger and tugged hard.

Kirk responded, jerking at the gesture and letting Spock’s penis fall out of his mouth. “Is that how you want it, Spock? Hard and rough?”

Standing, Kirk removed his trousers and boots, revealing a leaking red cock. Spock was drawn to it and reached out a hand, but Kirk backed away with a laugh. “Ah, Spock. Not yet.” Kirk seemed to revel in his control and Spock struggled to reinforce his shields. They did not respond and panic made his heart race.

It must have shown on his face because Kirk gave a dry laugh. “Feeling it now, aren’t you?” Kirk asked, lazily stroking his own penis as he watched Spock grow discomfited. 

All at once, his shields collapsed. “What have you done?” Spock gasped. A fever began to race through his body, searing a path into his consciousness and thrusting open the floodgates of his bond. _Kirk!_ his mind screamed, crying out for his mate. 

All at once, the Vulcan charged Kirk, using his superior strength to force Kirk face down onto the bed. “I will have you,” Spock gritted through clenched teeth. His mind was blank except for the need of this man. To have him, possess him, make him utterly his. 

Spock moistened two fingers and shoved them into Kirk’s ass. He pushed hard and deep, curling his fingers to press on Kirk’s prostate, wrenching a sharp gasp from the man. “You will belong to no one else,” Spock spat, towering above him. “You are mine.”

In one fluid motion, Spock removed his fingers and thrust his penis inside Kirk. The sensation was mind-blowing, arousing to the point of pain. He gripped Kirk’s hips, driving madly into him, enthralled and possessive, his mind chanting ownership. He snarled and seized Kirk’s neck with his teeth, forcing the human to scream out in pleasure as he was split apart by Spock’s powerful thrusts. 

Behind Spock, a shuddering crack vibrated the room and he was seized by his arms and dragged away from his mate. He fought furiously, thrashing out and sending two male Vulcans into the walls. “You will not have him!” Spock cried out. “Stay away from him!” Spock growled and kicked, surging forward to get to his mate.

Then he felt a pressure on his neck and collapsed. The world was no more.

~*~

When Spock regained consciousness, he blinked and saw his mate across from him, arms and legs bound by shackles. Kirk did not appear injured, save disheveled hair and dark red bite marks on his neck. He smirked at Spock.

“Spock,” his father’s voice sounded near him and then Sarek came into view.

“Father,” Spock answered, trying to reconstruct what had brought him to this state. He remembered only sharing a drink with Kirk and faint flashes of sexual contact.

“Captain Kirk is being held for crimes against a telepathic being.”

“Crimes?” Spock said, filtering his thoughts into order. Slowly he began to remember.

“You ingested _ginzal_ , Spock, through the captain’s subterfuge,” Sarek told him. “You have been given an antidote which has dulled your telepathic abilities.”

“Yes,” Spock said, feeling his words emerge slowly. “The Andorian brandy.”

Spock noticed a smile sliding across Kirk’s face.

“ _Ginzal_ ,” Spock recalled the word from his memories. “I believe it induces a mating frenzy, the _pon farr_ of our ancestors.”

“It has been outlawed for more than one thousand years. It is the last remnant of a time when mating was ruled by feral bodies and weak minds. Captain Kirk obtained a small portion.”

“And it wasn’t cheap,” Kirk chuckled. He was decidedly nonchalant and in Spock’s confused state, he could not determine if it was affected or real. 

“You will be silent, Captain,” Sarek said sharply, and Spock felt himself bristle at his father’s treatment of his mate.

Sarek turned to Spock. “As Kirk’s bondmate, you have the right to reprisals, should you desire them.”

“As Spock’s bondmate, I have the right to be heard,” Kirk spat back, surprising Spock with his ferocity. In Kirk’s voice he heard possession and something else that made him shudder — triumph.

Spock stared at Kirk’s face. The man seemed satisfied, eyes dancing with excitement. He was enjoying this, Spock realized through the dullness of his mind. 

“I’m part of the family now. Hi, Dad!” Kirk grinned, giving a little wave to Sarek. “A bit of a shotgun wedding, but…” 

Spock’s entire body jerked with shock when he realized the implications of Kirk’s plan, the danger not only to himself but to his father. “No! This cannot be. Father, you must sever the bond. Sever it.” Spock cried out, seizing this one desperate chance to be free. He clutched his head as the bond reacted to his words.

“Wait one fucking minute. No one’s digging around in my brain. Stay the fuck out!” Kirk exploded, straining away from the approaching Sarek. “I have rights!”

“You will be silent,” Sarek bellowed, as angry as Spock had ever seen him. He raised a hand toward Kirk’s face. Desperate, Spock slid off the chaise and crawled to his father, face turned up toward the elder’s hand. A moment later, he felt his father’s fingers on his face, then entry.

 _Father,_ Spock said telepathically. _The bond is strong. It calls to me. Father…I am experiencing fear._

_I sense your fear, son. Your mind has been raped — the bond is an abomination. Kirk desires our wealth and power. He is a clever and dangerous man and he must be stopped. Calm your mind, Spock. All will be well._

__Spock felt relief at his father’s words. He had never wanted the bond, never sought it out. It must have been Kirk’s plan all along. _Yes, father. Please help me._

Sarek’s presence in his mind soothed him, the commanding presence, once terrifying, providing guidance and an unexpected comfort. 

_Are you ready for the_ P'pil'la'ai _?_

_Yes, father._

A moment later, Spock sensed the turbulent fire of Kirk’s mind. Rage and fury and defiance radiated from his beautiful, vibrant essence. Spock struggled to allow the severing, pushed hard against his protective instinct. How he wanted him. Sarek’s powerful telepathy grasped the bond and began to dismantle it. Each strand pulled produced an agony like Spock had never experienced, as if his very soul were being shredded. It took all of his strength to remain upright.

Strand by strand, the bond was stripped, peeled away like bark from a Hyal tree. To Spock’s horror, however, the loosened strings sought to regain purchase. Sarek worked fast to tear the structure down, but the bond was stronger, twisting and braiding itself back together. 

Kirk screeched and thrashed beside him, kicking out with his shackled legs. _Stop!_ Kirk’s mental voice screamed. _Spock…Spock. Stop, please…_ Kirk’s wails were unexpectedly plaintive, deeply painful, and Spock shuddered. His control was failing, his resolve tattered. Moment by moment, Spock felt himself dismantled along with the bond, an agonizing, eviscerating sensation he could not bear.

 _Kroykah!_ Spock bellowed to his father. “Kroykah!” he screamed, wrenching his vocal cords. “You must stop this now.”

With a growl, Sarek broke the meld and Spock folded to the floor gasping, his face at Kirk’s feet.

“Father?” Spock cried out. Above him, Kirk was slumped unconscious in his chair. The bond pulsed painfully in his mind.

“It is a _t’hy’la_ bond, Spock. It will not break.” The elder Vulcan’s words were heavy, his gaze dark.

“No, father. That cannot be true. He is human.” It made no sense to him. 

Sarek sat on the chaise, staring at the two of them. “The ways of the t’hy’la bond are unknown. Surak suffered it and it led to his downfall. Not since that era have we encountered such a bond. It is indescribably dangerous.”

“Kill me, father. I cannot live with it. Kill us both.” Spock begged, his body shaking. He reached out to clutch Sarek’s ankle. “I do not want to be owned.” A fear, as primal as his longing for Kirk, thundered through him.

“I cannot kill you, _sa-fu_.” Sarek’s face filled with regret and sadness, and Spock watched him as if he were a stranger. “I cannot suffer the loss of another child.” 

“What do you mean?” Spock asked, sitting up shakily to stare up at Sarek. He likened his position to that of the child he had once been, listening to his father’s instructions. 

“Sybok was a beloved child, Spock. His betrayal was the worst I have experienced. His death was necessary, but I will never find solace. His mind…it was as beautiful as it was terrible.”

“Father…” Spock said, uncertain how to take his sentiments.

“Please forgive me, Spock. I cannot free you or Kirk from this curse.” The Vulcan lowered his head and Spock stared at the silver-black crown of his hair. 

“I understand.” Spock drew a long breath, registering the settling of the injured bond. He had no plan, no concept of how he would continue with Kirk as his bondmate.

“Spock, we have attempted to disjoin a bond without Kirk’s permission. A second telepathic crime.”

“Yes, father, but no permanent injury has been sustained.” He could sense the bond reknitting itself, growing stronger than before. 

“I suggest giving the captain’s mind time to recover and then we will discuss the matter.”

Spock nodded mutely, struggling for composure. Sarek assisted him as they stood. Between them, a feeling of regret and worry lingered. Kirk’s gambit could cost them much.

“I shall consult with Sovel and consider our options,” Sarek stated, resuming his placid demeanor. He summoned two guards, who grasped an unconscious Kirk under the arms. 

“Take him to his quarters and do not allow him to leave.”


	13. Chapter 13

Spock roused from his meditation when Kirk regained consciousness. He extinguished the azenoi pot and stood up from his seated position. His quarters, much the same as they had been for two decades, brought him memories of his childhood with Sarek, and for a brief time, his human mother, Amanda.

His memory of her remained sharp. Kidnapped and murdered when Spock was thirteen, Amanda had spent much of her life in Sarek’s private pleasure quarters, used for favor when trade demanded it. Her life was one of idle pleasures and freedoms not afforded other slaves. For her mothering, Spock saw her several times a month for a few hours. It was from her he became familiar with Terra and human customs. She was an intelligent, wily woman with a sharp sense of humor, who had been able to lure and keep Sarek’s affections for fifteen years. It was her scheming among the other pleasure slaves that had gotten her killed, and for that, Spock had mourned her in secret, although he suspected his father had known. Amanda’s influence had pushed him away from the slave trade and into the Emperor’s service. She would have been amused at his current predicament.

While calmer from meditation, Spock had devised no solution to his dilemma with Kirk. He still reeled from his father’s admission, but fear of the bond dominated his thoughts. It burned brightly, calling him toward Kirk, as he knew it would for the rest of his life. He could not yet accept the permanence of their connection, the sudden horror of being owned. He would do everything in his power to resist its beckoning. Deliberately, he took his time, cleaning himself and changing his robes before seeking out the human who had so irrevocably changed his life.

For as long as he was able, he lingered in his quarters, forcing his traitorous mind to obey until he could no longer wait. He burned to see his mate.

With each step, the bond shimmered, glowing in anticipation of seeing his mate. It held a power unlike any Spock had ever experienced. He hated and revered it.

Spock approached the doors and waved the guards to open it. He stepped inside to find Kirk still unconscious. His face was lax, mouth open as he breathed evenly. His arms, so often tense and ready for violence, lay sprawled awkwardly at his sides. A tenderness washed over Spock, so sudden and profound he felt ill. Was this how it was meant to feel? A sickening weakness drawing him to danger? Was this how Surak had been defeated?

Unable to resist, Spock reached out to touch a lock of hair that had fallen over Kirk’s brow. When his fingertip brushed Kirk’s skin, he jerked away at the sensation of an electric shock. Kirk blinked his eyes open and immediately scrambled away to the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Kirk demanded. His face was flushed and gorgeous.

Spock ignored his observations and straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “We must speak about our bond.”

“Ah!” Kirk chuckled and relaxed his tense posture. He smiled, wily and sure, and stroked the edge of a satin pillowcase. “Took you by surprise, didn’t I?”

Spock’s lips flattened. “Indeed.”

Kirk patted the bed beside him and raked his eyes over Spock’s body. “Why don’t we discuss it with my dick in your ass?” Kirk slid a hand into his trousers. 

Spock did not — could not — move. Kirk’s face darkened and he surged off the bed. He tackled Spock, shoving into him. “When I give an order, I mean for it to be obeyed.” Kirk’s breath was hot on his face. 

“Perhaps it would be wise to show more respect for your bondmate?” Spock asked calmly, sensing a time for negotiation, despite Kirk’s forearm against his throat.

“Fuck you. You’re my second and always will be. I can do whatever I want to you. And you can’t hurt me without hurting yourself.” Kirk’s arrogance was astonishing, his face filled with no small amount of glee.

“And the same is true in reverse,” Spock said, speaking roughly against the pressure of Kirk’s heavy arm.

“Except that I enjoy pain, both yours and mine.” Kirk abruptly ceased his force against Spock and grabbed his own testicles, squeezing sharply. Spock winced and Kirk groaned. 

“Fuck, that fucking hurts.” The human’s eyes rolled back in his head as he gripped himself brutally. Spock suppressed spikes of pain as much as he could, but the pleasure…he found it harder to push it away. Pain, pleasure, satisfaction, and need pulsated from Kirk, mingling with his own confused feelings. Desire coursed through Spock’s blood as he struggled to resist.

Kirk continued to clutch his testicles, rolling them roughly against their tender flesh casing. With heavy-lidded eyes, Kirk reached out and grabbed Spock’s nipple, twisting sharply. Spock sucked in air, body reacting to the pain and, in turn, Kirk’s pleasure as it rolled through them both. 

“Fuck, it feels so good, Spock. If I’d known this is how a bond felt, I would have done it ages ago.” He pinched and pulled, inducing more pain.

Spock wrenched Kirk’s hand away and shoved him hard toward the bed. He pounced on him, sexual hunger controlling his intentions, but so too did his human need for revenge, to show this Captain — this _human_ what he had wrought.

Kirk struggled, laughing and biting as Spock attacked him. His pounding heart echoed in Spock’s mind, Spock’s pleasure amplified by Kirk’s. Spock was blind with wanton lust and ripped Kirk’s trousers from his body. With each move, Kirk inflicted pain, kicking, scratching, pinching, any way he could. It infuriated Spock, but also deepened his need. Vulcans, it seemed, desired violence above all else, a primal urge he had long sensed but had never faced. 

With a string of Vulcan expletives, Spock jammed his penis into Kirk’s ass. It surged deeply into his channel, stretching and filling him completely. Kirk gripped his own penis, yanking hard. 

“Fuck me, you animal. Fucking bullshit stoic Vulcan undone by a mere human. You can’t resist me, can you? You’re like a bitch in heat. A fucking dog. My god, Spock, you fucking slut. You were worth the fucking cost. Gaaaah!” Kirk screamed as Spock shoved his fingers against Kirk’s meld points. Blinding flashes of pleasure blazed through their shared connection. Spock felt Kirk’s triumph at dominating him. Kirk, in the submissive position, had found victory in Spock’s loss of control. More profound than being owned, the very nature of Spock’s true self had been revealed to a predator. He ripped himself from the meld, breath heaving.

With the man’s laugh in his ear, Spock railed against himself, his mind screaming for respite while his hips continued to drive into Kirk. Spock’s body raged out of control. Lust and desire, a need to merge with this one man, burned everything else away. There would be no escape, no freedom. Nothing could be negotiated when this savage hunger possessed him.

He choked on his own gasp, barely able to breathe when his orgasm tore through him, joining the two beings even more deeply than before. Beneath him, Kirk moaned and shuddered, his pleasure mounting in Spock’s mind. Spock’s final thrusts triggered Kirk and he gripped the flesh on Spock’s back, jamming his hips up to take his mate deeper inside him. His face was slack with pleasure, mouth open and inviting, and Spock kissed him. His mouth responded, teeth and tongue in a frenzy of lust. 

When the two of them broke apart, Spock crawled down the bed and lay on his back panting. Small tremors swept through him and his limbs felt heavy and weak. The coupling with Kirk had been all-consuming and he felt ever more drawn to the human. He had no idea how to proceed — how to survive — just that he must find a way, no matter what it took. 

Weakly, he managed to stand and find his clothes. Kirk watched him without speaking then dozed off, seemingly unconcerned with the strength of what had just occurred. Spock felt completely out of his depth, with no frame of reference, no means to even understand what a bond of this type could mean. 

He felt wrecked and vulnerable, weaker than he had been as a child. Nothing had prepared him for this and he struggled to find a way back to his former self. Recalling his training, he allowed his mind to settle, without force, and took long centering breaths. His heart slowed gradually in his side as he took mental inventory. He was in desperate need of extended meditation and a resumption of his usual duties. The routine of it helped him; his life had long been in military service and he needed it more than he had ever been willing to admit.

First and foremost, he realized, he must remain sharp and alert. His captain was too unpredictable to get lost in his own questioning thoughts. Answers would come when he had more data — more sources for information. 

As he adjusted the sash on his uniform and replaced his knife, he straightened his shoulders and glanced in a mirror. He saw the external visage of the proud Vulcan he once was. No one, save Kirk, would ever know how his life had been ripped asunder. He would do his duty, be an honorable First Officer, and attempt, at all costs, to stay alive long enough to get the upper hand. Mentally, he shook himself, walling off his distress behind thick psychic walls. He knew Kirk would now be able to sense his emotions through their bond, even if he could not actively pursue his thoughts. Spock’s mind training was vastly superior to Kirk’s and thus it offered some protection. 

For now, that would have to be enough.


	14. Chapter 14

Spock felt Kirk’s waking presence in his mind a short time later as he sought out Sovel. His mind emitted a muted sense of irritation and Spock tensed. Long used to his father’s very faint mind-presence, this was altogether more startling. Their connections during sexual activity were intense, of course, but this link was stronger than he had anticipated.

“Spock,” Sovel said as Spock walked into this father’s business suites.

“Greetings,” Spock answered. “I seek my father. Is he available?”

Sovel’s wizened features softened. “He is occupied, Spock.” Sovel fixed him with a pointed gaze. “He has apprised me of your new bond with Captain Kirk. He remarked that it has you caused considerable distress.”

Nodding, Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “It is most troubling, Sovel. I find myself…at a loss,” Spock said, using a human expression because it seemed most apt.

“I was also informed of the nature of this bond, Spock. I must admit to some surprise. It seems highly unlikely such a bond could occur with a human.”

“Yes, indeed.” Spock pursed his lips.

“May I?” Sovel asked, raising his hand toward Spock’s face. They had melded many times in his life, but not for the past several years.

“Yes, Sovel.” Spock closed his eyes and awaited the cool touch of his mentor.

“My mind to your mind,” Sovel stated and a moment later, Spock felt his gentle presence. The Vulcan did not communicate directly with Spock, but seemed to flow in and out of his memories. Spock opened his mind completely to him, trusting him as he trusted no one else, not even Sarek.

As Sovel withdrew, Spock held his breath, then let out a small exhale.

“His mind is entangled with the deepest part of your consciousness, Spock. It is most remarkable.” Sovel stepped back and sat heavily on a nearby seat. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself as Spock sat next to him.

The old Vulcan finally met Spock’s eyes. “I sense your strong fear, Spock. You must overcome it. The nature of the bond itself is not damaging or enslaving. In fact, it is a potential strength to you that you cannot yet fathom. A bond of this type, so intricate and unbreakable, can be used for your benefit.”

Spock’s eyes widened but he could not suppress a shudder. 

“I see your dismay. I understand the nature of it, but I encourage you to look into the places you have resisted for so long. Investigate your relationship with Amanda — the bond you hid from your father. It is there and it alone holds the answers you seek.”

“How is this possible?” Spock asked, leaning slightly forward and lowering his voice.

Sovel opened his mouth to speak, but Sarek interrupted them. “Spock,” his father said, stepping into the reception area.

Immediately, both Vulcans stood to greet Sarek. Spock acknowledged him with a slight bow. Sovel retreated toward his desk.

“Captain Kirk has requested beam-out to your ship,” Sarek said, and adjusted his robe with the flick of a finger.

“Yes, father. I sense it is time to take our leave. The captain is most impatient.” Spock felt sorrow at the impending separation from his father.

Sarek paused for a moment before speaking. “I regret I was not able to assist you in severing the bond.”

“It is regrettable, but _kaiidth_.” _What is, is._

“Indeed, Spock.” Sarek nodded. 

A shiver crawled up Spock’s spine and he turned toward the hallway. A moment later Kirk appeared, flanked by two tall Vulcan guards. 

Spock greeted him. “Captain. I am ready to return to the Enterprise.”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” Kirk approached with a cordial expression and turned to Sarek, feigning pleasantness. “Sarek. Thank you for your hospitality. I regret we were unable to come to an agreement about your holdings.” Kirk smirked.

“It seems you have achieved much, nonetheless, Captain.” Sarek’s eyes hardened.

Kirk chuckled. “So it would seem.”

Sarek motioned to one of the guards who had followed Kirk in. The dark-skinned Vulcan held out the communicators and phasers which had been taken from Spock and Kirk when they’d arrived.

“I wish you long life, Captain,” Sarek said formally, watching Kirk and Spock retrieve the items.

“I’m sure you do,” Kirk said, then turned to Spock. “Ready…husband?” Kirk asked, eyes lit with deviousness.

Spock nodded curtly and stepped beside Kirk to face his father. 

Allowing his expression shift, Spock attempted to show his father his regard. He wished there were more time, more opportunities to plan and to find some other path. For now, though, he must remain by his mate’s side. Spock raised the ta’al and spoke, “Live long and prosper, _sa-mekh_.”

“Long life, _sa-fu_ ,” Sarek answered, confirming Spock’s renewed sense of closeness between them. Beside him, Kirk was asking for immediate transport. With his eyes locked on Sarek, Spock felt the tingle begin, and a moment later, that face was replaced by Lieutenant Farai at the transporter controls. 

Kirk stepped off the platform and hit the comm control. “Security, report to the transporter room.” He gave Spock a pointed look. “Escort Mr. Spock to his quarters and see that he stays there.”

With a smirk and a once-over, Kirk whirled away from Spock and strode out of the room.

~*~

Spock’s efforts to take advantage of his confinement were thwarted by a hail. He tapped the comm at his desk, expecting Kirk.

“Spock here,” he said.

“Uhura, sir. The captain—”

“Spock, get your ass up here,” Kirk shouted in the background. In his mind, Spock felt the echoing turbulence. 

He adjusted his uniform and approached the previously locked door and watched as it slid open. His guards, too, were gone. Taking a slow pace, Spock gathered himself and took the turbolift to the bridge, senses heightened as he drew nearer to his mate. When he emerged, the viewscreen was filled with the round orb of planet slowing growing larger as they approached.

“Captain,” he acknowledged, suppressing a desire to touch him, and took his seat at his science station. In his quarters, he had only briefly perused the hundreds of messages awaiting him and his station display now flashed urgently. He bypassed the notifications and immediately engaged the sensor array to gather information on the planet.

“Technologically advanced,” Spock said, peering into the sensor unit. “Similar to Earth, although more equally divided between land and sea, roughly fifty-one percent to forty-nine percent respectively.” Spock pressed buttons to change the sensor’s function.

“Multiple life forms, several species of unknown origin. Communication and technological advances consistent with ours. Primary populations above the equatorial region. Substantial air travel, satellites in low orbit. I am detecting warp signatures, Captain. The atmosphere could pose a problem, with heightened concentration of methane.”

“Sulu, put us into orbit.”

“Aye, Captain.” 

“Mineral scan, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said, eyes fixed on the viewscreen.

“In progress. One point four minutes remaining.” Spock watched as the ship slid into polar orbit. Precisely timed, the scanner beeped and Spock peered into to the sensor unit.

“Traces of dilithium throughout the inhabited areas, no large quantities appear on scans. Trace elements of gold, silver, and other precious minerals, as well as an unknown substance in large quantities in an uninhabited area in the southern hemisphere.”

“Hail them, Lieutenant Uhura.”

She did as commanded. “I have a representative from the planet, sir. He calls himself Ambassador Tek. The universal translator interprets the planet name as the Honorable Tabeel Republic.”

“On screen,” Kirk said, sitting more formally in his command chair.

A moment later, a bulbous yellow creature appeared on the screen. It had two round eyes with dark pupils and when its mouth moved, it appeared much like the mawing of a hungry fish. Many of the crew visibly recoiled, but Spock watched as the Captain simply grinned. 

Kirk spoke first. “Honorable Ambassador. Greetings from the Empire. I am Captain James T. Kirk.” 

“Honored visitors, I am Tek. I serve as ambassador to the many planets of this galaxy and beyond. How may we assist you?” As the being spoke, its mouth emitted a pale green mist. 

“We seek trade and rest on your planet. Will you welcome us?” Kirk asked in a silken voice.

“It would be our honor. We have special accommodations for humans. And the Vulcan can find comfort here?” The yellow being shivered, his bulbous mounds quivering.

“He is my newly acquired mate. He will find comfort with me.” As Kirk spoke, the rest of the crew visibly snapped to more erect postures. Spock remained stock-still and sensed Uhura’s eyes on him. He felt amusement through his bond.

“How fortuitous! I offer my felicitations on your mating.” The being emitted a darker green mist and rumbled in something Spock could only interpret as a laugh. “We shall welcome you presently.”

“Fine. Fine,” Kirk said. “Transfer beam-down coordinates and we shall see you shortly.”

The being gave another quiver, mist becoming pale. “My apologies, Captain Kirk. We do not allow transporter functioning. May I request your presence on a space-faring vessel? We can provide transportation if you desire.”

Spock read perturbation through the bond, but the Captain merely smiled. “It is of no matter. Send coordinates. Kirk out.”

Kirk swiveled to face Spock. “Tell me about the transporter? Is it inoperable?”

Spock recalled the planet’s readings. “Negative, Captain. No geological or atmospheric anomalies would prevent beam-out at your request. I advise, however, performing a test.”

“What do you suggest?” Kirk asked.

“Beam a living creature to the planet for several seconds and then beam it back. I suggest the uninhabited region in the southern hemisphere.”

“Excellent suggestion, Mr. Spock.” Kirk turned away from Spock and tapped his communicator.

“Mr. Scott. Report to the bridge.” 

~*~

With a transporter backup safely tested, Spock walked with Kirk to the shuttle bay to depart for the planet’s surface. He sensed his mate’s enthusiasm.

“A query, if I may, Captain,” Spock said, glancing sidelong at Kirk’s profile.

At Kirk’s nod, Spock spoke, “Do we have official mission parameters for the Tabeel Republic? I am unfamiliar with it.”

“The Emperor wants us to explore, Spock. Keep going and find more planets to conquer, more resources to consume.” Kirk gave him a grin as they turned the corner. “These bulbous yellow aliens might have the next best thing, Spock. Who knows!” It was clear Kirk enjoyed the adventure.

“You know what?” Kirk asked, pausing and raising his finger in the air. “I want McCoy with us. I’m curious about that green gas the aliens emit. I once fucked a Philibilis who oozed the most delicious purple nectar. His cock tasted like blueberries, Spock.” Kirk laughed, surprising Spock with a pleasurable ripple along the bond. 

He stabbed a button on a nearby comm panel. “Bridge to McCoy.” 

“McCoy here,” the doctor answered.

“Report to shuttle bay one and bring your equipment. We’re going to dissect an alien.”

“Acknowledged,” McCoy responded.

Kirk twisted his finger off the comm button and resumed their walk to the shuttle bay.

“Dissect, Captain?” Spock asked, curious about his intentions.

“Sure, why not?” Kirk shrugged, then leaned toward Spock, brushing his shoulder. “Did you know the cure for Mravoni Flu comes from the spleen of a Keftik slave?” Kirk raised his brow at Spock. “And how do you think we know that? Through diplomatic channels? Ha!” 

Kirk surged ahead to enter the shuttle bay, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. Ahead of them, the shuttle doors opened, awaiting their entry. 

Spock followed his captain and took the pilot’s seat. He engaged the startup sequence and observed as the display cycled through.

Kirk stood by the open entrance and greeted McCoy. The man stepped inside, slightly breathless. “Captain, Mr. Spock,” he acknowledged and hefted a bag off his shoulder. “Who are we dissecting?” he asked, eyes glinting.

Kirk gave an answering grin. “We’ll see…” 

Motioning McCoy to the second pilot’s seat, Kirk sat in the row behind. “Let’s get a move on.”

With everyone strapped in, Spock eased the ship out of the shuttle bay doors. It had been several months since he had flown a shuttle and he enjoyed the manual control of it. 

“Look at her, would ya?” Kirk said as the ship gained distance from the Enterprise. He threw off his harness and went to the aft window. “She’s a beautiful ship.” 

“Aye, Captain,” Spock answered, entering the coordinates provided by the Taleeb ambassador. He sensed Kirk’s pleasure and, unexpectedly, arousal. 

“McCoy, take the controls,” Kirk ordered.

Next to Spock, McCoy froze. “Haven’t flown a shuttle in years, Captain.”

“But you’re rated?” Kirk said, tone sharp.

“Of course, re-certified two years ago. Mr. Spock’s doin’ a fine job, Captain.”

“I need Mr. Spock for something else,” Kirk said, a seductive lilt to his voice. 

Through the bond, Spock felt the tug of Kirk’s ardor, sparking his own barely controlled desire. He switched the controls to McCoy and flipped off his harness before sliding out of the seat. He stood, his hair brushing the ceiling of the shuttle, and met the Captain’s eyes.

Kirk came close, his breath fanning across Spock’s cheek. “On your knees, Commander,” Kirk ordered, unfastening his trousers.

“Sir,” Spock answered with a short nod. His discomfort with the presence of McCoy was muted by his desire for this man, sharpening at the smell of him. He stripped his gloves off and tossed them nearby.

The pattern of the decking dug into Spock’s knees as he took Kirk’s penis into his hand, tugging a few times and pressing his face against Kirk’s hairy mound to inhale. The scent was intoxicating and Spock engulfed his mate’s penis in his mouth, feeling a vibrating excitement surge through their bond. 

Kirk moaned loudly, tugging at Spock’s hair. “Mmm, so good, Mr. Spock,” he bayed. “McCoy, put that thing on autopilot and watch this. He’s such a good second.”

With his back to McCoy, Spock could only hear the man shifting in his seat. His spine prickled at the gaze he knew had fallen upon him. To be witnessed in such a position was both distressing and unexpectedly arousing. He sucked harder, striving to make a display of his captain’s pleasure. 

With a moistened finger, Spock sought out Kirk’s ass, and the man shifted, allowing him entrance. Above him, Kirk’s breath stuttered as Spock’s finger shoved inside, finding and pressing against his prostate. 

“Fuck, your mouth is so hot.” Kirk shuddered and his grip on Spock’s hair tightened. “God, I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

Roughly, Kirk slammed his hips into Spock’s face, his penis ramming against the back of Spock’s throat. Spock struggled to breath and loosened his jaw. His own penis had emerged from its sheath, surging hard against the inside of his trousers, and he cocked his hips to press his thigh against his erection. He wanted to plunge inside his mate, bite and squeeze until they were both screaming out in pleasure. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kirk shouted as Spock worked another finger into Kirk’s ass and finger fucked him while sucking him off. Behind him, Spock heard the low groan of McCoy and the obvious sounds of the man pleasuring himself. 

Spock looked up, noticing the Captain’s eyes on McCoy, heavy-lidded, but open. 

_Nooo!_

With jealousy surging through Spock, he shoved another demanding finger inside his mate and took control of Kirk’s hips. He used his mouth like a vacuum, sucking, producing more saliva, and concentrating on the building ecstasy inside Kirk’s mind. Kirk would think only of Spock as he came, he would make sure of it.

Through their connection, he flooded Kirk with his possessiveness, his need and want, his ownership of his mate. In return, he sensed Kirk’s surprise, a brief moment of panic, then a shuddering surrender. Kirk’s mind and body were his now, his ass and penis under Spock’s total control. Spock glanced up to see his mate’s eyes closed, face slack with pleasure, and he twisted his fingers once more, pressing hard on the man’s prostate. 

With a sharp inhale of breath, Spock felt the bright peak of Kirk’s orgasm, flooding both his mind and his mouth, sweet and rough and delicious. Spock swallowed everything Kirk could offer and let his fingers slide out of the man’s ass. He continued to suck Kirk dry, then looked up, catching his mate’s now-open eyes. He pulled his fingers free of Kirk’s pants and slid them into his own mouth to suck on them, his pleasure heightening.

He wanted to come so badly, and he shoved his hand inside his own pants to squeeze his fully erect member.

“No!” Kirk rasped, jerking Spock by the hair. “You don’t come until I say so.” 

Spock’s eyes flew open, seeing Kirk’s face twisted with hard anger. With a final desperate squeeze of his penis, he released himself and slid his hand out. His sex throbbed and craved a desperate relief.

“Clean yourself up,” Kirk barked. “You’re a mess.” He shoved Spock back and roughly zipped up his trousers. Irritation cut through Spock’s lust and he strengthened his mental shields.

“McCoy, how much fucking longer?” Kirk asked, striding past McCoy to sit in the seat Spock had vacated.

“Just enjoyin’ the show, Captain. Would’n’a guessed the Vulcan had it in ‘im.” McCoy’s tone held the lazy aftermath of orgasm.

“Give me the controls,” Kirk snapped. 

Spock turned around and watched as McCoy fumbled with his entry code to release the controls to Kirk. With the chime of transfer, McCoy hurried to zip his own pants.

With the shuttle at his command, Kirk surged them forward, knocking Spock slightly off balance. He grabbed onto a nearby seat and climbed into it. After a moment, Spock sensed Kirk’s angry mood had retreated to a dull annoyance as he now distracted himself with flying. As the shuttle sped through the planet’s lower atmosphere, Spock reached for his gloves and tugged them slowly back on. 

Bit by bit, Spock willed away his arousal and assessed what had occurred between them, the wild change in Kirk’s moods: his joviality in the corridor, his lust, his darkened mood after their sexual act. He surmised with sixty-eight percent probability, that Kirk’s angry reaction was the result of Spock’s mental pressure during oral stimulation. He recalled the brief moment of panic when Spock took control, and the surrender that initiated his orgasm. 

His assessment brought to mind the words of Sovel in regard to their bond, _it is a potential strength to you that you cannot yet fathom. A bond of this type, so intricate and unbreakable, can be used for your benefit._

To Spock’s well-contained delight, it appeared that he had indeed discovered a way to benefit from the bond. With a sly smile, Spock patted down his hair and straightened in his seat. He fastened the harness latch and watched the muscled shoulder of his mate as he piloted them through the clouds.

Soon enough, his time would come.


	15. Chapter 15

As soon as the shuttle hatch opened, moist, sour air poured in. McCoy gasped, coughing as he emerged from the shuttle. Kirk wrinkled his face, but otherwise did not react. 

Spock’s tricorder readings showed higher than optimal levels of methane in the atmosphere.

“Captain Kirk,” a voice came from their right. They all turned to see the bulbous yellow being bobbing toward them. Despite his girth, he floated easily. “I welcome you again.”

“It’s a pleasure, Ambassador Tek,” Kirk said, his voice sounding somewhat strained to Spock’s ears. 

McCoy coughed again and mumbled what must have been a complaint, but was too low to discern.

“Ah, Captain, this atmosphere is difficult, no? Please, allow me to show you to the human quarters. I have been advised that while unpleasant, our natural atmosphere does not harm humans.”

“Thank you, Ambassador. McCoy?” Kirk gave a small choked cough.

“Uh, Ambassador. I am Dr. Leonard McCoy. I’m afraid this atmosphere can be harmful to humans with exposure lasting more than a few minutes. I suggest we return to the shuttle or immediately go to another location without methane.”

“Of course, follow me.” The ambassador exhaled a pale plume of mist and spun around, motioning to the three of them. 

Spock followed Kirk and McCoy through a wide door and down two more narrow corridors, each seeming cooler than the next, but without much variation in the gas composition. Spock’s tricorder monitored their progress and beeped as they approached a blue door.

Tek bobbed near them. “Here we are, Captain. I trust you will find this more acceptable.” At the touch of a panel on the wall, the door swung open, revealing a spacious and sparsely furnished space with a wall of windows overlooking the city.

“Readings within acceptable range, Captain,” Spock said, stepping into the chamber. 

Kirk turned to Tek before entering. “Your hospitality is most appreciated. Won’t you join us?” Kirk gave the man a silky smile.

“Yes, of course, Captain. I would be honored. The great Empire has never formally visited our world.” Tek blew out a lemony green mist and Spock began to see a pattern in the color variations. “I can only stay briefly, however, as I do not have my breathing device to help process the oxygen. It is clear our races are somewhat incompatible.”

“Ah, but only in our atmosphere,” Kirk said, smiling. “I anticipate we will find much in common.”

Kirk motioned the ambassador to enter and followed him. The Captain looked around the room and crossed to the windows. “You have a beautiful city, Ambassador. What do your people enjoy in their leisure time?” He cocked his hip against the back of a chair, posture lazy and relaxed.

“Oh, many things, Captain. We particularly enjoy _bool-juu_ , a delightful intoxicant. You will find several doses in the cabinet of each sleeping quarter.”

Spock interrupted, “And this substance, it is legally produced and used on Tabeel?”

“Yes, yes, of course. We are a jittery people, long hunted by the Prevee. The bool-juu has offered us pleasure and solace for eons.” His mist shimmered with a bluish hue.

“And what of the Prevee?” Spock asked.

The alien’s body rumbled and the misty blue deepened to a murky sapphire. “A virus, I am afraid. It destroyed their ability to procreate and the race is no more. Since that time we have celebrated peace.” Tek’s rumbling eased and he appeared to cough. “I must depart. Should you require anything, simply press this button.” Tek bobbed toward the door. 

“Thank you, Ambassador. We require breathing apparatus so that we may venture among your kind.” Kirk said, following the alien and giving a respectful nod.

“Yes, of course. You will find the units in the utility closet.” Tek pointed a fat arm toward a door to Spock’s left. Shivering excitedly, the being spewed pale green before turning to depart. Kirk closed the door after him.

“These Prevee people…have you heard of them, Mr. Spock? What do we know about this quadrant? Certainly a planet this close to Vulcan would be known.”

“One would assume so; however, the methane-heavy atmosphere would be a deterrent to Vulcans.”

“But as slaves — I am sure there must be some use for them.” Kirk stroked his jaw, obviously thinking.

“Indeed, Captain, further study is advisable.” 

“Indeed,” Kirk echoed and Spock felt a sense of derision through the bond. In response, he merely raised a brow.

“Doctor? Anything to add?” Kirk turned his gaze toward McCoy.

“Well, we could run some tests…take a look under the hood?” McCoy gave a lopsided grin, obviously relishing the opportunity to explore the alien’s reactions to painful stimuli.

“Yes, soon enough. First, let’s sample some of the bool-juu. See how tasty it is.” Kirk grinned and clapped his hands together.

Kirk retreated to the largest of the two sleeping chambers and returned with a flat metal box. Inside was a small cake, pale yellow with green flecks. It reminded Spock of _kreyla_ , a common Vulcan cracker. 

Spock scanned the item with his tricorder. “The primary substance is similar to Terran wheat, comprised of starches and amino acid chains. The green substance is unknown, a chemical signature unrecognizable on the whole but containing elements known to produce mind-altering sensations.”

Kirk grinned and sniffed. “Smells like peanut butter. What do you think, Doctor? Care to try?”

“Can’t very well dissect a Tabeelian high, now can I?” McCoy waved a dismissive hand. 

“Ah, then, Mr. Spock. It seems you would be a good choice.” Kirk thrust the substance toward Spock. 

“It is unlikely the substance would affect me, Captain. Vulcans are susceptible to only one known mind-altering substance.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? Care to share?” He took another sniff of the bool-juu.

“It is irrelevant, Captain. The only known source has been destroyed and it has not been used since the time of Surak.” 

With a chuckle, Kirk unpeeled the entire round cake. “There have been other things not seen since the days of Surak, yes?” Kirk said, and Spock sensed lust through their bond — their t’hy’la bond.

“Indeed,” Spock answered, raising his mental shields to hide a flash of irritation. He did not wish to be reminded of his unbreakable bond with the captain. 

“Well, if it won’t affect you directly, let’s try it this way.” Kirk grinned and surprised Spock by taking a large mouthful of the substance and began to chew. He grimaced as he choked down the dry substance. “Drink,” he croaked, spewing out crumbs onto the front of his shirt.

McCoy jerked into action and reached into his waistband to produce a silver flask. “Here, drink this.” He twisted off the cap and offered it to the Captain who took a long drink. Spock merely watched, idly curious about the interactions between the liquor and the unknown psychedelic substance. 

Kirk coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He tossed the rest of the cake onto a round table in the center of the room and went to the windows.

“McCoy, why don’t you take one of those units to the market and see what you can rustle up for entertainment.” Kirk stood akimbo, arms folded and didn’t bother to look at McCoy as he gave the order.

“My pleasure, Captain.” McCoy gave a nod to Spock then went to the closet to remove a cloth satchel. From it, he withdrew a small breathing filter. “I’ll give this a try in the hallway. Back in a flash.” McCoy affixed the unit and left the chamber a moment later.

Spock took another of the satchels and removed a second unit, examining it. It appeared to be an interesting resolution to the methane-heavy atmosphere — a simple filtering system to reduce methane inhalations. Spock was curious about the filtering mechanism, but would not dissect it until they had returned to the ship.

“Captain, your orders for me?” Spock asked, drawing closer to Kirk.

“Stand by, Commander,” Kirk said tersely, unmoving from his posture at the window. Outside, the world appeared to be darkening and the lights on the highest buildings began to twinkle in the dimming evening.

With a whoosh, the door sprang open again and McCoy entered. He removed the filter from his face. “Works just fine. Not sure of the range of this thing, but I’ll stick close.”

“I would assume several hours, Doctor. Any less would be relatively useless.”

“Let’s hope. Not sure how long it’ll take to wrangle our _entertainment_.” McCoy smirked and Spock gave him a flat expression. He was not interested in McCoy’s particular notion of fun.

McCoy left and Spock began to examine the filtering unit once more. At the back of his mind, he felt a stirring, warm and fluid and edged his shields lower to assess them. The sensation was clearly emanating from the Captain’s mind, although he remained stiff at the window.

“Captain, your status?” Spock asked cautiously.

“It’s beautiful, Spock,” Kirk said, voice intense. 

“Is it familiar to you?” he asked, wondering if Kirk had experimented with drug use in the past.

“It’s actually quite similar to the atmosphere of Arcadia Seven. Have you been there? It’s quite toxic, but a great shuttle ride. Can you see it, Spock? Through our connection?”

“I cannot see it, per se. I can sense your pleasure.” Spock spoke candidly, surmising Kirk’s usually defensive nature had been softened by the drug’s effects.

With a low rumbling sound in his throat, Kirk unfastened his trousers and pushed them down over his hips. Spock watched as the dark fabric pooled at his feet and the captain pressed himself against the glass. Kirk began to stroke his own penis and Spock’s mouth went dry. Seeing Kirk’s bare ass sent a surge of lust to match Kirk’s own growing desire. 

“Oh, this is delightful. The arousal, Spock. It changes it.”

“Explain, Captain.” Spock moved alongside Kirk, watching openly as he fisted his penis.

“It’s like their breath, the colors, intensifying with emotion. But it’s inside my body, my muscles, my flesh. Fuuuck.” Kirk stroked faster, flattening his free palm against the glass. 

Spock was tempted to release his shields, to feel what the captain felt, but he did not. His lust was problematic at best and the presence of the psychedelic substance was too risky.

“I want you to fuck me. Nice and slow. I wanna ride the colors, Spock.” Kirk bent slightly, reached behind himself to reveal his asshole, and Spock’s lust flared brightly. He could not deny his desire but struggled nonetheless.

“Do I need to make it an order?” Kirk said, his light tone belying the threat.

“No, sir.” Spock stepped toward Kirk and hesitated, regarding his gloved hands. Torn, he hesitated a moment too long and Kirk gave a loud groan and shoved his ass against Spock's mound. With a sharp inhale, the Vulcan peeled off his gloves, then used both hands to cup the man’s tight ass. Pleasure, delight, and need flooded his sensitive telepathic senses. He buried his nose into Kirk’s hair, inhaling deeply of his musky scent, and whispered to him. “You are mine.” Spock mouthed Kirk's neck as his body began to vibrate with need. He thrust his own trousers down and stroked his slit, gathering moisture as it seeped out of his swelling mound. 

With one moist finger, he pressed inside his mate’s hole. Kirk groaned and pushed back onto him. “Fuck, Spock. I’m flying.”

Spock growled and rubbed harder at his slit until his penis emerged, hardening rapidly. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked while inserting another finger into Kirk’s ass. He thrust hard, feeling Kirk undulating against him. It was maddening, this need for him. Between each episode of intercourse, Spock had fooled himself into thinking it would be the last, he would control his deep desire. He was weak with this man, but at the moment, he did not care. He wanted to fuck him hard, pound him into the glass, display his strength for the entire city to see.

Finally, Spock shoved himself inside his mate, groaning at the tight, sweet heat. Spock pulled out and slammed in again, thrusting hard several times. 

Kirk keened, making mewling sounds unlike Spock had ever heard. “God. Fuck. Spock. Slow down. Fucking slow down.” 

Spock restrained his urges and did as his mate desired. Pulling out painfully slowly and pushing in just the same. Kirk’s own hand stilled on his cock and he let his head fall back against Spock’s shoulder.

“Your cock…Fuck.” Kirk was barely coherent in his mutterings, but let his hands roam as they could over Spock’s body. Affection was the word that came to mind, so bewildering for a man who could be so brutal. Kirk squeezed and stroked, nearly humming with satisfaction as Spock fucked him as slowly as he could manage. His own lust raged, urging him to move and take and consume his mate until they were one.

Kirk gripped Spock’s fingers and roughly pressed them to his face. “Meld,” Kirk gasped.

Spock balled his hand into a fist. He struggled with all his might to resist, to deny this component of their mating. 

“Meld!” Kirk shouted, and knocked his head hard against the side of Spock’s face. He pulled at Spock’s fingers, attempting to open them. After a moment’s resistance, Spock released his struggle and let his fingers be pressed to Kirk’s cheek. “Do it!” Kirk grated, shoving himself hard on Spock’s erection.

Spock took a breath and splayed his fingers, shunting both of them into a swirling torrent of colors and sensations. Almost immediately, their pleasure exploded, mounting faster than he had ever experienced, a blistering spiral that wrung orgasms from both of them, locked together desperately clutching each other. 

Spock could not feel where his flesh ended and Kirk’s began. Their bodies and minds were fully merged and Spock collapsed to his knees, dragging Kirk with him until he felt his shoulder hit the cold floor. He thrust inside his mate, gripping him painfully, still erect and needful, pushing them both toward an apex that never seemed to satisfy. More. More. More. Spock was wild and lost, aware only of Kirk, his bright golden mind calling out to him, filled with a depth of passion the Vulcan could not comprehend, a beating heart matching his, a surge of affection he could not explain. 

Kirk gasped and swore, fingers digging deeply into Spock’s thigh. His mind was ablaze with an intricate beauty, undamaged by the raging strobe of bright colors. In flashes, Spock saw Kirk, strong and proud, wrathful and triumphant, the man he had come to know. With effort, Spock tried to slow his undulating hips, release his painful grip on his mate, ride the waves without being consumed. It took all his mental effort to retreat, joined so deeply with his t’hy’la. 

Crying out, his mate protested Spock’s retreat, somehow sensing his absence. Inexplicably, Kirk followed him, grasping onto a tendril of Spock’s will. He felt his presence as separate yet together, watching and experiencing, intertwined into a joined consciousness. 

In all of their couplings, Kirk had dominated, forcing his will in the final moments to dominate Spock. During only one brief time had Spock even glimpsed a power to control the fiery human. Now, they stood apart from themselves, their bodies urgently mating, as if four minds were at work, two in the physical realm and two now observing. 

As if by a turbulent sea, Spock watched the violent crashing of their bodies together, felt the pleasure as deeply as ever, but was simultaneously removed as well. In his mental embrace, Kirk softened, his chaotic thoughts slowing, lingering on moments of tenderness. An elder human female, a man with unseeing eyes, an Orion slave — each reveling in his soft touch. Murmurs of love and adoration, glimpsed briefly before flashing away into the torrent of color and sensation. The drug pulsated, dizzying flickers of a life Spock committed to memory, valuable and revealing.

It was possible, Spock realized in a moment of clarity, for this man to love. This violent, sadistic man who appeared without weakness, could love. Spock was stricken by the realization, gripping ever more tightly onto his mate before suddenly letting go, fearfully rejoining his physical body before his knowledge was revealed. In seconds, his separateness disappeared and he was once more consumed by lust and physical need. 

And so it went, seemingly for hours, as their bodies curled around each other, bonded together through the meld, until they were finally spent and Spock’s hand fell away from Kirk’s face.


	16. Chapter 16

Spock startled awake, the hiss of a hypo spray in his ears. “It’s about time you woke up. Been waiting long enough.” Spock heard the familiar drawl of Dr. McCoy.

Across the room Kirk sat rubbing his neck, eyes glazed and heavy. “How long were we out, McCoy?”

“Hell if I know. When’d you take the drug? Right after I left?” McCoy helped Spock to his feet and sat back down. The Vulcan pulled up his trousers and zipped them gingerly over a swollen and red mound. His mouth was dry and the muscles of his back ached. 

Kirk ignored the doctor’s question and asked one of his own. “What’d you find out there?” He gestured toward the corridor. His tone sounded casual but Spock felt his skin prickle. Something was off.

“Not a goddamn thing. Walked around for about two hours, then that mask filter started to fail. Made it back here just before I passed out. Turns out we’re in some protected area. Nothing but locked doors and fat Tabeels.”

“That’s too bad.” Kirk stood and tugged at his shirt. He paused and seemed to center himself. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He retreated toward the washroom without glancing at Spock. 

“What the hell happened, Spock?” McCoy whispered, glancing toward the closed door where Kirk had disappeared.

Spock smoothed his uniform and stood, running a mental inventory on his bodily functioning.

“Shortly after you departed, the captain ingested one-fifth of the bool-juu. He became intoxicated and aroused. As his mate, my services were required to meet his needs. Does that surprise you, doctor?” 

“Of course it does, ya damn fool. First time I ever heard of a first officer and a captain getting hitched. Emperor ain’t gonna be too happy with that.”

Spock pondered the doctor’s words. “The captain appears to be unconcerned.” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess you’d know, what with all that Vulcan voodoo of yours.” 

“Indeed.” Spock glanced toward the door as Kirk emerged. He appeared to be refreshed and Spock straightened his posture. “Your orders, Captain?” Behind Spock’s words were the emerging memories of Kirk’s life, glimpsed during their drug-induced sexual activity.

“Mister Spock, back to the ship. McCoy and I can take it from here.”

Surprised, the Vulcan blinked. “Captain?” His orders made no sense. _He_ was the science officer.

“Mister Spock,” Kirk answered tersely, mocking him. “We’ll call for the shuttle when we’re ready to return.”

Kirk turned to the doctor. “McCoy, you said those filters only last two hours? Let’s get Tek on the line. We need more time.” 

“Captain, if I may,” Spock interrupted. “I believe you will require my expertise.” He mentally probed their bond. He sensed nothing from Kirk.

“If I wanted your expertise, Commander, I’d have asked you to stay. You are dismissed.” Kirk turned away and walked toward the closet to retrieve the final filtering unit.

“Yes, sir,” Spock answered and lifted a brow in McCoy’s direction. The doctor shrugged and Spock brushed past. He moved behind the captain without a word and left the chamber. 

He walked quickly to the landing bay and typed in the entry code for the shuttle. Only once he closed the hatch did he allow himself to slump into the pilot’s chair, stricken with shock. Their recently shared experience had obviously affected him more than the captain, who appeared to be unruffled. 

Once again, Spock attempted to probe their bond, only to find it blank, as if they had never been bonded at all. It was bewildering and slowly grew more and more painful. A blocked bond, however achieved, could be debilitating to a Vulcan.

~*~

The shuttle landed with a soft hiss and Spock unbuckled, feeling calmer and more centered now that he was aboard the Enterprise. He had managed to cordon off the pain of the blocked bond, but he was in desperate need of meditation. He noticed bursts of scattered anxiety in his mind, strange fantasies of violence against the captain, vengeance. What was happening to him? How had his life become so out of control?

As he walked, he recognized the strange emotion — it was rejection, so strange a sensation that he could not begin to fathom it without deep reflection. Was it not better to be away from Kirk? Away from his ceaseless manipulations? The fear he would be killed without warning? He was desperate for answers.

With his insides mildly shaking and his mouth quite dry, Spock saluted the guards and took the turbolift to his quarters. Sulu had the conn and Spock was relieved to allow that to continue as he returned to his own space. He stripped off his uniform and threw it into the fresher. With a glance in the mirror, he stepped into to the sonic shower to clean himself. For a long moment, he exulted in the feeling of the vibrations against his skin. With his eyes closed, he once again made a mental inventory of his body. The mental effects of Kirk's ingested bool-juu were no longer present, but his mound and penis beneath were red and tender, and he touched them gently. In his mind, he had a vague yet growing awareness of pain.

He had no experience in a copulation such as he'd had with the captain under the influence of the drug. Kirk’s use of the _gonzal_ at his father’s compound had induced a temporary pon farr, but it had been nothing like the separation of consciousness from body he had experienced just hours ago. In pon farr, his rationality had been compromised, his body’s need to mate overwhelming logic until the act of bonding had been completed. The bool-juu, however, had split him into two beings, each linked to Kirk in a swirling and confusing mixture of lust, need, hyper-awareness, and connectedness. He was barely aware of what Kirk might have taken from his mind and he was deeply troubled by the potential danger it threatened. 

For Spock’s part, his revelations about the captain would shift his strategy. The man was not without softer emotions — as many beings in the Empire appeared to be. Kirk’s love for the blind human male was unmistakable, as was a deep sense of loyalty for both the Orion and the elder woman. This information could offer more bargaining power than he currently possessed. He was certain the captain would honor his “get out of jail free card” as he called it, but Spock was loathe to use it to manipulate — he knew implicitly he would need it to save his life. No, first he required more information about the Captain’s previous alliances, particularly the blind man. Who was he, Spock wondered. He surmised the woman had been his mother or possibly an aunt, and the Orion was obviously a slave for whom Kirk had affection. The man however, dark-haired with a severe scar along his forehead, was clearly important. A lover, Spock hoped, and one who could give him the leverage he needed. 

Finishing his ablutions, Spock stepped out of the sonic shower and dressed in a casual robe. He lit his meditation pot and rolled out his mat before kneeling on the floor. With a few breaths, he began to slip easily into meditation. 

It was only there he could find answers. 

~*~

By midday, Spock’s head pain had become untenable. His meditation, however fruitful for devising a plan, had not succeeded in controlling the pain in his bonding center. Having never been bonded before, he was unaware of a method for the captain somehow block their bond. Did he have some historical knowledge of that mechanism. Even if that existed, he was a mere human with no natural telepathy and certainly no means to push pain into Spock’s mind. It made no logical sense.

When Spock’s own methods of deduction failed, he sat at his desk and typed in a secret code to reveal his communication channel to his father. He knew Kirk could access the feed when he returned, but he had no other options.

“Spock,” Sarek answered almost immediately.

“Father,” he replied. “I am in need of assistance.”

“With Kirk,” his father stated simply.

“I believe he has blocked his side of our bond and I am experiencing increasingly severe pain in my bonding center. What are your thoughts?” 

“Tell me how this has occurred.”

“Kirk ingested a substance called bool-juu, from the Tabeel Republic. I trust you are familiar with the culture.”

“Of course. The Tabeel are master chemists. Vulcans, as you know, find their planet untenable and we have only cordial relations. Furthermore, their concoctions are banned on Vulcan.”

“Are you familiar with the bool-juu drug? Do you know its effects?”

“Indeed. It is a hallucinogen and has been reported to enhance bonding. We have recorded several instances of Tabeel substances facilitating a deepened bond between Vulcans. Unfortunately, when ingested, the side-effects produce a crippling reduction in telepathy outside the bonded pair. I am uncertain about the effects on a human. Did you ingest the substance, Spock?” To his surprise, Sarek’s words held mild alarm.

“Negative. Kirk ingested a large portion of the drug and I became secondarily affected. How does this explain the blocked bond and the physical pain I am experiencing now?”

“Is the pain an after-effect of the drug? A ‘hangover’ as it might be called by Terran humans?”

“I do not believe so. I was with him this morning and felt none of this. For the last several hours, however, the pain has been increasing and meditation does not ease it. In addition, I can detect no physiological reason for my pain.” 

“Is it Kirk’s pain? Are you feeling it through your bond?”

Spock hesitated. “I do not know for certain, but I do not believe I can sense him. There is no emotion, no essence of my bondmate, merely steady and worsening pain.”

Sarek was silent for a few moments. “Are you with the captain? Is he free from harm?”

“He is currently on Tabeel and I am on the Enterprise.”

“Go to him, Spock.”

“Go to him?” Spock blinked in surprise. 

“If the bool-juu has affected Kirk’s side of the bond, you could be experiencing his pain — tremendous pain if he is planetside and you are on the Enterprise. I cannot be certain, but given the bool-juu’s side effects on Vulcans, it is possible it could have affected Kirk’s bond in an unexpected way.”

Spock paused only briefly to consider his father's words. “I see the merit of your argument, but I do not understand how the bond could be activated with only physical pain — I do not sense the Captain at all.”

Sarek sighed. “Spock, Vulcans have so long eschewed bonding that I cannot say for certain how a deep bond, especially a t’hy’la bond operates inside the Vulcan mind.” Sarek paused again, as if gathering his thoughts. “My bond with you is weak, but even I have sensed when you have been subjected to the agony booth.”

“You have?” Spock was shocked. “You never mentioned it to me.”

“I chose to keep your mind unclouded… and in all truth, I did not wish to reveal our bond to you. I know now that is unfortunate.”

“Father…” Spock was unsure how to respond. He shook his head and shifted in his seat.

“Go to him and make certain he lives. I fear you will not survive if he dies.”

“Yes, father. I will go immediately.”

~*~

Now that Sarek had introduced the possibility of Kirk’s pain intruding into his consciousness, Spock launched into action. Suspecting foul play by the Tabeelese, Spock requisitioned a captured Danorian trading pod and piloted it toward toward the planet. 

His limited research showed the Danorian and Tabeelese cultures, despite being quite distant, had an active trading partnership. Spock called up the universal translator to intercept Tabeel comm traffic and to access recorded logs regarding previous trade runs. 

A turbulent planetary entry smoothed out as Spock broke through the atmosphere, flying calmly until he was hit with searing pain deep inside his brain — confirming for him what had only been a theory — it was Kirk. Now he could feel him. He gripped the controls and the ship wavered as it careened toward a glittering public landing pad near the temporary quarters of Kirk and McCoy. Spock struggled to pilot and land the ship. Eventually, he ordered the computer to assist and the ship settled down with a dull thump.

With as much mental effort as he could manage, Spock spent a few minutes meditating in an attempt to quell the pain. He forced shaking fingers to pull a hypospray out of a medkit, and finally admitting defeat, pressed the hypo against his neck. Almost immediately the pain dulled and Spock released a trembling breath. The spray had been filled with a dangerous telepathy dampener, one that would reduce the effectiveness of many of his important abilities, including melding with others for information. It was necessary, he now knew, if he had any hope of leaving the ship to find his bondmate.

Feeling renewed and determined, Spock popped the ship’s hatch and strolled off the ship with no more than a handwave from a squat Tabeel spewing a cool grey mist. Spock, choosing to cover his Empire uniform with a Vulcan robe, breathed through a small mask attached to a 12-hour tank strapped to his waist. Vulcans, while rare on Tabeel, tended to move along unmolested — a fact for which he was grateful.

His comm directed him toward the area where he’d last seen the Captain and McCoy, but he was stopped by a locked door with no markings. Using his superior strength, he managed to disengage the door lock and shove his way into a low corridor. He followed it to a set of stairs and went up several floors to emerge in a hallway he recognized. He knocked on the door where Tek had housed them but no one answered. He knocked louder, mildly aware of distress in his bonding center. It was similar to the pain, but muted almost to the point of nonexistence. He sensed a mood shift, anxiety possibly, but could not be certain. With a shoulder, he rammed the door and it popped open, revealing a room in disarray. Several of the chairs had been disturbed, and as Spock scanned the room, he saw a Starfleet communicator. On closer examination, he determined it was the Captain’s. 

Something was obviously amiss and Spock paused, stilling his body to tune into the muted sensation of the bond. He turned slowly, walking back out the door and to the right. Tendrils of emotion twisted around the pain, almost invisible but more pronounced as he grew closer in proximity to his bondmate. 

_Captain!_ Spock shouted through the bond. A spike of emotion, then more pain.

_Captain Kirk. James… I am coming for you._ Spock focused his telepathic abilities, dulled as they were, and pushed calm and soothing toward his mate. He had no sense if it worked or if the captain could sense him, but he was driven to try.

Suddenly the bond spiked with a shot of desperation, and he sensed a faint calling out of _Spock_. He was close!

Increasing his stride, Spock surged forward through a set of double doors and into a darker area of the building. Lights of many colors emanated from various points in the space. As he approached, he saw Tabeels generating the colors with their communication mists. He had yet to completely recognize what each color represented, but he could sense that many of these colors were pleasure — rippling and shimmering, often clustered into small groups of Tabeel. It seemed to be a pleasure club.

Spock followed Kirk’s frantic mental calls toward the back of the long room. Several Tabeels glanced at him, faces partially obscured by lavender and orange mists. Through another set of doors, he found a group of the fat beings gathered around a cot. He shoved his way through, nearly blinded by the searing pain in the center of his brain. As the startled beings bobbed aside, Spock saw his bondmate, strapped to a squat table, writhing, clothing soaked with sweat. His eyes were pinched closed, mouth and nose obscured by a moist breathing mask, whitening quickly with each gasp he took.

The Vulcan whipped back his hood and yanked the breathing mask away briefly. “What have you done to him?” Spock asked, voice strained. He knelt by the cot and placed his hands against Kirk’s bare shoulders. His body emanated pain and Spock sucked in a breath. It was nearly unbearable.

“Where is Doctor McCoy?” Spock shouted when no one answered. He looked around the room and saw no sign of the doctor.

“Captain,” Spock said urgently, shaking the captain. “Captain, can you hear me?” 

The human moved his head, but made no sound. Spock took several deep breaths through his mask before leaning close.

“Captain. Captain Kirk…James?” Spock moved his mouth near to Kirk’s ear. He heard a groan and renewed his efforts. Under normal circumstances, he would have melded with the captain, seeking to ease his suffering, but he was unable to do so due to the telepathic dampeners. He would have to get him to the shuttle into the Enterprise's sickbay. 

Spock pulled at the restraints, growing angry and frustrated when they did not ease. “Where is Ambassador Tek?” Spock turned on the nearest Tabeel with an angry face.

“He—he is with the Minister’s Council.” The Tabeel emitted a burst of white mist.

“Get him!” Spock focused his mind and reached beneath the cot to the fasteners holding the restraints. He pushed sharply and was gratified to hear the fabric of the cot give way, tearing downward until the harness clanked to the ground. He repeated the same action with the other two, barely able to focus for the pain.

“You will surely pay for this,” Spock grated as he gathered Kirk against him. “The Empire punishes those who harm us.” Spock glared at the group of bulbous beings, completely unable to control his rage. 

Spock pulled the captain onto to his back, carrying him through the chamber, growling and moaning at the proximity of the captain’s pain. 

A moment later, he arrived in the hallway only to be stopped by Ambassador Tek. “Mr. Spock, my dear sir, what is the matter?” Tek bobbed anxiously. 

“What have you done to him? He is in agony!” Spock tightened his grip on Kirk’s arms looped tightly around his neck. “You will pay for this!” Spock pushed past Tek, knocking him into the wall.

“No, no! You are mistaken!” Tek raced after him as best he could. “He requested the treatment. It was his choice. Please, sir, you must listen to me.” 

Through the haze of rage and pain, Spock heard the whine of the Ambassador and he paused, glaring over his shoulder.

“Explain yourself.”

“The Captain approached me to ask about a bond enhancer. We warned him of the danger, refused several times until he threatened my deputy. We do not wish to endure the wrath of the Empire. Please, you must believe me.” His mist rapidly changed colors from white to pink to red. 

“What does this ‘bond enhancer’ do? Has it ever been tested on humans?”

“I do not know. It does not affect us as it does Vulcans. We discovered it by mistake many centuries ago. I do not know if it has ever been tried on a human.”

Spock shouted once more, his mind blazing with pain. “What does it do?”

“It enhanced telepathy with a bondmate _in a Vulcan_. But Captain Kirk, he has no bondmate — how could he, he is human!” Tek’s voice wobbled.

“He is _my_ bondmate. Mine," Spock nearly growled. "What will happen to him now?”

“I do not know. I swear!” Tek raised his stubby arms, waving elongated fingers at him. His mist came in quick puffs of red. He was terrified.

Spock could tolerate no more of this sniveling being. “Find Dr. McCoy immediately and bring him to the Danorian shuttle. Do you have an antidote? Can you change what has been done to him?”

“We do not know what has been done! We are unfamiliar with human neurology. We begged the Captain to refrain. He would not. You must understand.” Tek’s high-pitched shrieking pushed Spock past his limits and he struck out at him, hitting him hard against the side of his fleshy face. The alien crashed against the wall, his entire body wracked by trembling until it was obscured by a red, then blackening mist. 

Spock stormed away, carrying Kirk through the corridors until he reached the docking bay. McCoy was nowhere to be found and Spock was murderous.

Once inside the shuttle, Spock laid the captain on the metal deck gently, with as much care as he could, given his weakening physical state. He pulled the last dose of the telepathic dampener from the medkit. His was wearing off, but he must help Kirk. 

With a hiss, the hypospray released its content into Kirk’s neck. A moment later, Spock’s mind relaxed, pain easing. He let out a sigh and sat heavily on the deck. He touched Kirk’s wrist, feeling nothing from him, no pain, no sense of him, just nothing. Later, he would need answers, but now, the relief was so great he simply trembled and laid his forehead against his knee.


	17. Chapter 17

The minutes ticked by as Spock composed himself. With Kirk’s pain lessened, Spock was able to assess their condition. He could not fathom the reason why Kirk would seek a bond enhancer. It made little sense to Spock, as it had seemed Kirk was uncomfortable with the bond and would have preferred it mute. Looking down at his Captain, he resisted the urge to touch his golden hair. He would receive no answers with the Captain unconscious, so he would wait ten more minutes for Dr. McCoy and if the man did not arrive, he would leave him.

Spock took the time to meditate, feeling the telepathic dampener slowly releasing its hold on his mind. A thumping sound caught Spock’s attention and he opened his eyes to see Dr. McCoy rushing onto the ship. 

“Oh, you found him!” McCoy stopped short, then knelt next to the Captain and scanned him, reading the tricorder as he went along. “Something’s not right. His brain activity is way down. What the hell did they do to him?”

“I have administered a telepathic dampener, Doctor. Please recount the actions of the Captain since I left the planet this morning.” Spock fixed him with a stern expression and watched as the man wiped sweat from his upper lip.

“Patient-doctor privilege, Commander. If I break it, he’ll kill me.”

“If you do not answer my question with full details, _I_ will kill you now and discard your body where it will never be found.”

McCoy swallowed and closed the case of his tricorder. His fingers were shaking slightly and he pulled a flask out of his waistband. He took two quick swigs and resealed it. 

“The Captain was in bad shape after you left, Spock. I don’t know what in the hell you two did with that crazy drug, but he said he couldn’t feel your bond. Whatever in the hell that means.”

“The Captain indicated he could not feel our bond? What were his exact words?”

“Ah, I don’t know.” McCoy scratched his chin. “Something like, ‘I can’t feel Spock anymore. He’s not in my head.’”

“Yes…” Spock said.

“And I said, ‘Good. You don’t need that crazy Vulcan in your brain anyway.’ And he got pissed off. I mean really pissed off like I’ve never seen him. His rage is usually cold and calculating, right. Haven’t known him long, but he’s not an exploder, like L’Egu. This time, though, he wrecked the room, threw his communicator against the wall. He was screaming for Ambassador Tek.”

Spock blinked. “Go on…”

“The ambassador came in, agitated as all get out, and Kirk demanded more bool-juu or something stronger, something to reconnect the two of you.”

“And Ambassador Tek? How did he respond?”

“He gave it to him. Down in some pleasure chamber. Damn Kirk wouldn’t listen to me when I told him it was a fool’s idea. He’s got his own mind and that was that. When he started thrashing, they tied him down.”

“Why didn’t you intervene?” Spock asked.

“Why do you think, damn it? Said he’d kill me if I interfered. Made me leave when the thrashing started. It’s a wonder he isn’t dead.” McCoy looked down at Kirk once more, then, after a long pause, back at Spock. His face was pensive.

“He’s vulnerable now, you know…” McCoy said tentatively. Spock understood his meaning.

“Your ambitions are noted, Doctor. Captain Kirk is my bondmate and I will not kill him. I have no desire to be Captain.”

“But don’t you want to be free of him? Inside your head like that?” McCoy took another swig of his liquor.

Spock formulated several answers to the doctor’s questions, but in the end decided to maintain their privacy. “I prefer the bond, Doctor. It is our job now to give the Captain time to recover without arousing suspicion on the Enterprise.”

“Yeah, all right. I can do an emergency beam directly to sickbay. Get us close to the ship and I’ll make sure he’s got privacy.”

“If harm should come to the Captain…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll do worse than kill me.”

Spock nodded gravely. “Indeed, Doctor.”

~*~

Like an ancient computer coming slowly online, Spock could detect the growing presence of his bondmate in his mind. The sensation was mild at first, just a wisp of the energy he had come recognize as James Kirk. As Spock concluded his mission report, the crackling energy of the Captain became evident, stronger than it had been prior to their visit to Tabeel. 

Spock took a steadying breath, strengthened his shields, and headed to sickbay to greet his awakening mate. 

The doors to sickbay slid open and he found the doctor scanning a report near a guarded door. “Doctor McCoy.”

“Commander. Let’s talk in here.” He led them into his private office, but spoke in a low whisper. “He’s waking up. Neural patterns are definitely altered, but he’s still unconscious. I have him in restraints…just in case.”

“And the guard?” Spock asked.

“I’ll wipe his memory for the last few hours. Just give the word.”

“Do it now.” 

The doctor nodded and pulled a hypospray from a low cabinet drawer. Spock followed him out and distracted the guard to allow McCoy to jab the device into the man’s neck. The guard’s green eyes glazed over then he shook his head. “Commander, Doctor. You requested security?” The wipe had been successful.

“Your services are no longer needed, Ensign. Report to your assigned post.”

“Yes, sir,” the man answered and saluted before leaving.

“Anyone else present, Doctor?”

“Nope,” McCoy answered, shrugging.

Spock said, “Computer. Secure external sickbay doors. Authorization Spock-alpha-four-seven-one.”

“Doors secure,” the computer announced.

“Take me to the Captain.”

“All righty.” McCoy typed in a code and a wall shifted to reveal a set of hidden yellow doors. Using a voice command, the doors spread open and Spock saw the supine figure of Captain Kirk. Spock’s heart jolted in his side.

Spock immediately approached and began to loosen the restraints. “These are not necessary, Doctor. He has been through a trauma and requires less … strict care.” 

“Whatever you say, Commander. But don’t be surprised if you find yourself knocked on your ass.”

Spock raised a brow. “Your warning is noted.”

At Spock’s touch, Kirk seemed to rouse, moving his head and moaning. His mouth worked, but was soundless. 

“Captain,” Spock said. “Captain Kirk. Can you hear me?”

Spock leaned over his mate, resisting the urge once more to stroke his hair. Such weakness would have to be curtailed, he thought angrily. He took a half step back and drew himself up tighter. 

“Come on, Captain.” McCoy said and shook the man to rouse him. “Want me to stim him?” he asked.

“Negative. We shall wait.”

As Spock said those words, Kirk’s hand shot out and grabbed Spock’s wrist. “What the fuck is going on?” Kirk lifted his head and glared at Spock. His grip was tight and Spock could sense confusion, anger, and fear.

“You are in sickbay. I have retrieved you from the Tabeelese pleasure quarters. You have ingested a strong brain-altering substance.”

“Yes. Yes. I remember.” Kirk released Spock’s wrist and sighed. He blinked several times and shook his head again. A moment later he looked slowly from Spock to McCoy, eyes narrowed. “You could have killed me, either of you. What’s going on?”

Spock tilted his head, curious but unsurprised that his first concern would be assassination. “Neither McCoy nor myself is interested in command. Of this fact you are well aware.”

“Fools, both of you.” Kirk grimaced then rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve got to get to the bridge,” he said, then began to sit up. 

“Hold on one minute, Captain,” McCoy interrupted. “Your brain’s more scrambled than Sunday morning eggs. You need to rest.”

“I’ve felt worse. Give me a stimulant, Doctor.” Kirk managed to swing his legs off the table and sit up. 

“Captain…” 

“That’s an order, McCoy.”

The doctor reached for a hypospray and pressed it against Kirk’s neck. “You’d think I was the doctor ‘round here…” he mumbled.

Kirk shivered as the chemical took effect. “Ah. Better. Spock, you’re with me.”

“Captain, it would be wise to debrief before addressing the crew.”

Kirk glared at him. “I’ll decide what’s wise.” He hopped off the table and headed slightly unsteadily toward the doors. When the outer door failed open, he glanced at Spock then spoke, “Computer. Release and open external sickbay doors, authorization Kirk-alpha-seven-seven.” 

The doors slid open and Spock followed the Captain to the turbolift. “Captain, if I may…”

“Later, Spock. My command is in danger. Sulu is a snake and you can be sure I will be challenged if I do not act immediately.”

Spock was surprised at the admission. “More the reason to discuss what has occurred.”

“Negative, Commander,” Kirk said, then fixed him with an unexpectedly intense gaze. “You’ve come this far…” 

For a moment, Spock was enthralled. He was no expert at human emotional expressions, but this was evident — the Captain was asking for his loyalty.

Spock blinked several times, calculating his next move, recognizing the importance of his decision. Almost instantly, he confirmed that his loyalty to this violent unpredictable man had already begun. He knew with certainty this path could ruin them both, but found he could make no other decision.

“Yes, Captain. I shall follow your lead.” His voice carried a strained note and he swallowed, expecting Kirk to gloat. Instead Kirk dropped his eyes closed for a long moment, as if relieved. 

“Good,” Kirk said as the doors slid open. “Here we go.”

“Captain on the Bridge,” came the order from the sentry.

Immediately, several of the bridge crew turned, mouths slightly open. 

“Uh, Captain…” Sulu said, appearing surprised. “Um, welcome back, sir. I trust your meetings were profitable.”

Kirk grinned, light and confident. He walked over to Sulu who was still seated in the command chair. He slapped the man on the back. “Indeed, Lieutenant. Very informative — I am certain many of us will profit in ways we cannot yet imagine.”

“Uh, that’s great, sir. I…” Sulu stood awkwardly. It was clear to Spock that Sulu thought the Captain dead. Spock experienced a twinge of irritation that the ambitious man did not consider Spock a threat. Clearly, his distraction with Kirk had cost him — a matter he would need to rectify.

“You are relieved, Mr. Sulu. Twelve hours leave. You are welcome to choose one companion and enjoy the hospitality of the Tabeelese. There is much to discover.”

Sulu’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He glanced at Uhura, his long-time desire, but Kirk interrupted him.

“—Except for Lieutenant Uhura. She is needed on the ship.” 

“Yes, sir. I’d like to invite Ensign Flores from engineering.”

“As you like. Dismissed.”

Spock watched as the man departed the bridge before taking his own seat at the science station. 

“Maintain orbit, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk said and stabbed the comm button. “Yeoman, bridge.”

Spock perused results for two of his long-term experiments and glanced up only briefly to see Yeoman Rand step off the turbolift. 

“Captain Kirk, welcome back. I have your reports, sir.”

“Very good, Yeoman.” Kirk took the PADDs and scanned them slowly. After twenty minutes, the yeoman took the stack and left the bridge. 

Kirk said, “Computer. Location of Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Flores.”

“Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Flores are no longer aboard the Enterprise,” the computer stated.

“Ensign Chekov, plot a course for Centauri Prime.”

“Keptin?” Chekov glanced back startled. 

“Is there a problem, Ensign?”

“Lieutenant Sulu has beamed down to the planet, sir?” 

Spock turned to stare at the naive ensign.

Kirk smirked. “Perhaps you would like to join them on Tabeel?”

Chekov hunched his shoulders and tapped the screen. “Course laid in, sir.”

“Very good. Let’s go. Warp factor four.”

Spock felt the slight sensation of the ship shifting into warp. For the first time in nearly a day, he breathed more easily.

~*~

Several hours later, Spock could feel Kirk’s weariness through their bond. In their time on the bridge together, Kirk‘s distraction allowed Spock to assess the bond’s changes since Tabeel. Now richer and more robust than before, the connection no longer required touch for him to sense Kirk’s emotions. It was unsettling, but also…comforting? Abruptly, Spock reinforced his shields until the bond felt like a distant sensation he could ignore. It seemed wise to keep it that way.

Kirk stood and adjusted his sash. “Mr. Spock, you’re with me.” Lieutenant Nubari, you have the conn.”

Spock logged out of this station and moved toward the turbolift, glancing at the faces of the crew who watched the Captain and First Officer depart. They would no doubt be quite relieved. The crew would certainly surmise the Captain had been spying on Sulu and Flores. They would be more careful, but just as deadly, Spock knew.

The turbolift doors slid closed and Kirk sighed, allowing his shoulders to droop a little. “I’m fucking tired, Spock. Damn.”

Spock’s eyes widened at the admission. This Kirk was altered in some way that made Spock wary. 

“Why are you surprised? Because you can sense my feelings?”

Spock cocked his head curiously. “How do you know what I can sense?”

“I can feel you, Spock.” Kirk tapped his head with a finger. “Inside my head. You’re surprised, cautious, and a little pleased, no?” Kirk chuckled and Spock blanched, taking an involuntary step back. _This_ is why Kirk wanted the bond enhancer. Spock slammed his mind closed.

“It won’t help, my darling bondmate,” Kirk said, facing Spock and leaning in until their breath mingled. “I am inside you now. For good.” 

Spock took a quick breath. “To what end, Captain? What will you do with your knowledge? I have already offered you my loyalty.”

Kirk bit Spock’s bottom lip. “I am a greedy man, Spock.”

The lift doors opened and Kirk stepped back with a smirk. Spock walked with him until they reached Kirk’s quarters, where he sensed Kirk’s desire and felt his own. Despite his fear, Spock wanted him and followed him inside. 

The moment Spock passed through the threshold, Kirk was on him, teeth bared as he kissed him hard on the mouth. He grabbed at Spock’s clothes until he found the skin beneath his shirt. 

“Take your clothes off,” Kirk said, biting Spock’s jaw. “I’m going to fuck you.”

More than anything, Spock wanted to refuse, wanted to return to his life of quiet subterfuge and wealth-gathering. This path, with this man, was deadly and dangerous. The ruin seemed foretold in his mind, but he found himself pulling at his clothing before he could stop. Kirk tore at their clothing together until they were both naked, thrusting themselves against each other with equal fervor. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Spock asked, desperate for answers. He was no one, nothing, a hybrid Vulcan with nothing but wealth to offer.

“Get on the bed,” Kirk commanded, shoving Spock towards the gold-covered bed.

Spock complied, dragging his mate with him. Kirk pushed him down, mouth locked on his, hand rubbing frantically against Spock’s mound. Kirk released his lips and bit a painful path to Spock’s emerging penis. He engulfed it, taking it into his mouth and sucking painfully. Spock groaned, pulling at Kirk’s hair until the man softened his mouth. 

A silken sensation replaced the painful sucking and Spock’s mind floated in bliss. Their arousal twisted together, rising and falling with the actions they took: Kirk thrusting a finger into Spock’s ass, curling and teasing his prostate, Spock’s gasping moan when his mate shoved two then three fingers inside him, biting his thighs roughly. Spock released his pleasure, his mind singing with the bond fully open. Kirk groaned, receiving, returning the lust twofold. 

Kirk flipped Spock onto his stomach and thrust his face into Spock’s ass. He licked and swirled and probed the tender flesh with his tongue. He pinched and bit, gripping the hard muscles of Spock’s thighs. Spock groaned deeply, desiring his mate to mount him, wanting to mount him in turn. He could not decide which he wanted more.

Taking the decision from him, Kirk yanked Spock to the edge of the bed and slid his penis inside him, thrusting powerfully until they were both panting and moaning. Kirk’s mind was alive with possession and need. The raw cacophony of emotions flooded Spock’s senses, pushing him closer and closer to release. 

Without warning, Kirk pulled out, and climbed over Spock, nudging him forward. “Fuck me, Spock. I know you want it. I want to feel your dick pounding my ass.”

Spock yanked Kirk into position, spreading his legs wide and shoving a moistened finger into his hole. Kirk laughed. “Just fuck me. I like it raw.” Kirk yanked his own penis to hardness and Spock did as he asked. The friction was intense, almost painful, but Spock’s natural lubricant soon eased the way. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Kirk moaned, pulling Spock down to kiss him with his hot wet mouth. “Fuck me, you filthy whore. My whore. I own you.” Kirk spoke the words over and over in different combinations, ownership and pride mixing with a heightening pleasure. “Show me what you’ve got. Own me, Spock. Possess me. Come on, you Vulcan motherfucker. Do it.” Kirk urged him on, kicking his heels into Spock's ass as if he were a stallion. 

Lust blazing, Spock complied, pressing Kirk’s knees all the way back to his shoulders. The man howled, pain and pleasure, satisfaction, a frenetic need for more. Spock set a brutal pace with fingers gripping painfully into Kirk’s thighs. The man stroked himself harder and harder until each was close to orgasm. 

“Meld us. Show me who you are, Spock.” 

Spock could barely register the request and continued to fuck his mate. Kirk pulled at Spock’s hand, ripping at the glove until it was removed. 

“Do it!” Kirk shouted, sweat streaming down his temple.

Spock relented, sense and reason no more, and pressed his fingers against Kirk’s face. His mind exploded along with his orgasm, a wordless and shocking blaze of color and sensation. Kirk’s mind did the same, as deeper and deeper tendrils of ownership twisted around their bond, heightening its connection until Spock could not discern their separate selves. He continued to thrust, continually erect long after ejaculating, the pleasure so intense his body refused to yield. 

He was not sure how long they stayed melded, physically connected to each other, but eventually Spock released in orgasm again along with Kirk, and fell heavily to his side. His mind was blank now, numb and fully sated. He had no words or thoughts to share. Kirk was muted as well, like a slow moving river on a windless day. The two shared an unexpectedly easy and deep silence until they ceased to be conscious and fell into dreamless sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Spock awoke with a start, surprised he had fallen asleep. More surprised still that he was intertwined with Kirk, as if they were a loving couple. He jerked away and sat up, rousing Kirk as he did.

“What time is it?” Kirk asked.

“Oh-two-hundred twelve,” Spock answered, reaching for his glove from the floor.

Kirk mumbled something unintelligible and pulled a blanket over his body. Spock stood and retrieved his pants and shirt. His knife had been discarded hastily and had slid under a chair. His defenses had been completely lowered and he had allowed it. For sex. For meaningless physical pleasure.

“It is not meaningless,” Kirk croaked and Spock gasped, spinning to face his mate.

“You can hear my thoughts!” Spock’s mouth hung open.

Kirk began to laugh, a sleepy gritty sound. “You foolish, foolish Vulcan,” Kirk said. He sat up against the pillows and pulled the blanket over his chest. He looked like a satisfied cat.

“You are not telepathic,” Spock accused. “What have you done?”

“What do you mean? Why do you think we went to the Republic of Tabeel? Do you somehow think it was a coincidence? Are you so naive to think I would risk my sanity for a trifle?”

“Explain,” Spock said darkly. A growing rage blossomed in his chest.

“The bond is no use to me if I cannot read your mind, Spock. Vulcans of old knew the methods for telepathic communication. They desired it, used it to conquer world after world until the Revolution. They ran away from their own power to live in secrecy. It’s a waste.”

“How do you know this?” Spock moved slowly toward Kirk, hand on the hilt of his knife. 

“You told me, Spock. Three years ago.”

“Are you mad?” Spock asked, attempting to discern Kirk’s mood. Through their bond he sensed truth, but it only increased his confusion.

“Do you want to see? Go ahead. Go through my mind. I’ll show it to you.” 

Spock stopped moving. Kirk offered so much and had to know he could kill him in the process.

“Yes, you could,” Kirk said. “You could scramble my brain or you could just kill me with that knife. I’d allow it rather than let you render my brain disabled.” Kirk rose from the bed, naked, proud, and defiant. He approached Spock and bared his vulnerable neck. 

“It’s your choice. Now or never, Spock. With me or against me. This is the only chance you will ever have to end me, us, what we can be.” Kirk stepped closer. “We can have it all, Spock. More than just the Enterprise. More even than your father. We can have the Empire, Spock. Don’t you feel it?”

Kirk’s voice was seductive, enthralling, and, in the end, he was completely right. In a flash of insight, Spock could see it all before him. Kirk’s plan became clear.

Spock lowered his hand from his knife hilt. “This was your plan since you boarded the Enterprise.”

Kirk nodded. “Long before then, Spock. Three years ago it all became clear. You, or rather a different version of you, told me — showed me through a meld — what was possible between us. I put the rest together, the unstoppable team, the secret we possess that no one can break or change. We could be the most powerful ruling team the Empire has ever seen.”

Spock saw the glittering hope in his mate’s eyes. “Yes. I see the possibilities. I must know your encounter with my other self. Will you allow it?” Spock tugged at his glove.

Kirk stepped closer still until his breath fanned Spock’s face. “Yes. But first, are you with me? This bond we have, full and true. My bondmate in every way?”

“What do you mean?” Spock’s heart pounded with fresh fear. _Certainly he could not mean…_

“I feel your emotions, Spock. I felt them in sickbay. You care for me. You do not want to, but you do.” 

“No. I cannot.” Spock’s voice was barely above a whisper. He could not be so weak.

“Yes, you can. Search your mind. What do you think the t’hy’la bond wreaks? It is to your soul, Spock. Beyond lust and desire, beyond loyalty and fealty, all the way through, down to the bone. Devotion, the unfettered desire to kill anyone who would threaten your mate. Utter and helpless devotion.”

Spock watched Kirk’s face, rapturous, as if this were the prize he had sought all along. “You speak of love.”

Kirk grinned, shoulders relaxing. “Got it in one, Spock. Take a look.” He grabbed Spock’s hand and moved it toward his meld points. 

Spock hesitated, unsure if it was a reflex or real resistance. He was desperate to see what Kirk had experienced, but the offer terrified him. To be known in this way, to trust so utterly, to be trusted in return. It was unheard of. Even among family, no one trusted this way. How could he?

All his life he had rejected fear, conquered it, accepted death as it might unexpectedly come. He had shaped his career through ruthless calculation, sparing no one, caring for no one. Yet he knew he could not kill Kirk, for it would be like murdering himself. So, he opened his mind further and explored, allowed his thoughts to drift to his most deeply held desires. To the fantasies he'd held as a child, longing for companionship with others, tenderness, a joining of consciousnesses — the exact gift offered to him by Kirk now. Spock swallowed hard, suddenly afraid. 

The bond would cut both ways: to own meant to be owned, to conquer meant to be conquered. He would never be free of this sadistic, unpredictable man. Until Spock died, this man would be his mate. 

It was the alternative, however, that forced his decision. The thought of their minds severed and bereft, the bond a broken burned husk of despair, revolted him. It would drive him mad, he was certain of it. He had no skills to heal that part of himself, that foreign remnant of Vulcan of old. Kirk was right, it had been foolish for his ancestors to eschew bonding, and with it the gift of bonded telepathy. 

He could not deny the appeal of ruling the Empire, the potential for power thrilled him to the core. A lustful pride surged through him, ownership of all he observed, every desire, even the deepest most shameful need for...love? His care for Kirk, while not yet love, persisted despite his protestations. Their connection was undeniable. He needed him in body and craved his affection in return. Simply, he wanted more. To achieve more, he would have to give more in return.

Boldly, with his decision made, Spock pressed his fingers against Kirk’s meld points. He sifted through several memories until Kirk pushed forward one that revealed an old Vulcan, more than one hundred fifty, who came to Kirk on a strange ship. Kirk had nearly killed him, but somehow the Vulcan, clearly another version of himself, had known what to do and prevented his death. Instead, he had incapacitated Kirk and forced a meld.

_Spock gazed up at an older Kirk, hair curly and dark, hazel eyes staring down at him with such tremendous kindness. His heart soared painfully as recognition dawned. He had been consumed by another consciousness, seeking life and meaning, using Spock as a conduit to discover something beyond itself._

_“This simple feeling,” Spock said, gripping Jim’s hand, surging with unchecked emotion: a bright, blazing love, nearly abandoned through fear and separation. His mate smiled, squeezing hard and sending relief and love through their touch._

_With a shifting blur, Spock falling to his knees, wracked with grief as his bond was suddenly severed. His t’hy’la erased from existence during a routine mission. It was shocking, searing through his brain and chest, causing him to claw at his robes. He moaned low, stricken by unbearable pain._

_A strange wood cabin and a cheerful singing drawing him inside. His mate startled and confused. Around them, the slowly dissolving reality that had been constructed to keep him prisoner. Spock reached for Jim, clutching at his shoulders as the man wrested himself away. Desperately, Spock clung to him, calling out to the Enterprise for assistance, pleading with the universe to save them both or let them die together. In an instant, Jim collapsed into him, sobbing, bewildered, as reality rushed into his mind. The imperfect nexus wreaking havoc with his tender consciousness. With intense focus, Spock used their bond to stabilize his mate, determined to bring him home whole and alive. A gasp of recycled air and the clarity of a transporter pad. They had made it._

_Old and weary, bones brittle with age, Jim shuffled slowly along a brightly lit corridor, muttering under his breath about damned Vulcans and stubborn doctors, Spock reached out to touch his shoulder and Kirk smiled, gruffness disappearing as he turned to his mate. Open love and devotion soared unchecked between them, buoying the elderly human as he moved toward his final days. A satisfied sorrow of a life well-lived and a Vulcan well-loved. No regrets, of course, just a foolish wish for more._

The images left Spock shaking. Never had he imagined such deep regard and devotion. Exactly what Kirk had described. In turning it over in his mind, he also realized the terrible danger his ancestors must have experienced. It had always been told that the bond was dangerous and allowed one to be controlled. And yes, that was true, but it offered so much more. He could also sense from the old Vulcan that _his_ world had not been like the Empire. It had been peace-seeking. The differences allowed Vulcan to flourish peacefully and the bonds had thrived, acting as connections between the people and making their world strong.

“You see it?” Kirk asked, eyes bright.

“Yes.” Spock dropped his hand away, shaking, overcome by the visions. How could this have happened in his life? How and why was it possible? So much death and evil had he experienced and witnessed. He shuddered.

“Spock…” Kirk drew him into an embrace, sweet and tender, so unlike the man who had exalted in the murder of others. Spock sensed his softer, less violent side. A tenderness he thought impossible, so well-hidden but now open to his mate. “Do you feel it, Spock? What it can be?” 

Spock reveled in the embrace, crushing his lips to Kirk’s, feeling a fiery passion that could never be quenched. Their bond burned with a searing intensity -- it threatened everything -- could obliterate them fully if they allowed it. For a deep, lingering moment, Spock indulged in the force of the bond, the unchecked potential, the devotion Kirk already had for him. He tasted it on Kirk’s tongue, felt it through their skin as they groped for each other’s flesh. It filled him, a molten desire burning a path to the core of his being. He wanted to stay inside it forever. To his death even. And it was in that instant he saw the deadly threat, the stupidity and recklessness of acknowledging the bond in this way, so openly, so dangerously evident to any telepathic or empathic being. It would lead surely to their deaths -- Kirk's death. The very thought shook him beyond measure. 

With a gasp, Spock jerked out of Kirk’s arms. _No!_ his mind screamed in protest. Desperately he fought against his own desires. It could all be ruined before it had even begun. Weakness and shame overwhelmed him. This was impossible. How could he indulge such danger? How and when had he become so ignorant. No, no no. He shoved Kirk away, startling them both.

Spock gritted painful words, “You must never allow this part of you to emerge, even with me. It makes you weak.” Spock glared at Kirk, willing them to separate, to find reason once again. Kirk looked at him with confusion and hurt clouding his hazel eyes. Spock took a step forward and struck him hard in the face. 

The human reeled backward, stumbling, and Spock surged forward, hitting him again. “Never, ever, ever. Do you understand?” Rage and protectiveness drove him forward to confront his mate. It tore out his very soul to do it, but Spock hit him again, feeling the sharp report of pain in his own jaw. “We can never give in again. Never be vulnerable to others reading our minds. We must hide it even from ourselves.”

Kirk glared at Spock, confusion twisting their bond. He wiped blood from his mouth. “You’re a cruel bastard, Spock. Don’t you see... it makes it worth it. All the death, the killing, everything…” Kirk was on his knees and Spock was struck by the contrast with the defiant man he had met such a short time ago. It was a signal of the danger and he fought harder against the bond, against Kirk’s weakness that so mirrored his own. 

“No!” Spock shouted, dropping to his knees to grip Kirk hard by the shoulders, shaking him roughly. He snarled his warning, spittle flying into Kirk’s shocked face. He had to make him understand. “Do not confuse this world with theirs. We are not them. We cannot be them. We cannot have tenderness. We cannot allow vulnerability. We cannot ever. Do you understand?”

Kirk shook his head urgently, cheeks ruddy and marked from Spock’s beating. “No, Spock. No, I don’t want to understand. I want it all, Spock. And I will prove we can have it.” Kirk jerked out of Spock’s grasp and moved away panting. Spock settled back, heart racing in his side. His mind was in turmoil. He watched Kirk, still for almost a full minute before suddenly he moved.

Kirk stood, body rigid, and yanked his pants off the floor. He avoided Spock’s eyes and spoke defiantly. “Fine, Spock. For now, yes. I’ll keep it to myself. I’ll stay the Kirk the Emperor created. The warrior, the killer, the empty shell I once was.” Kirk shoved his arms into his shirtsleeves and roughly popped his head through. Kirk found Spock’s gaze, eyes blazing. “But one day, and I promise you this, you will capitulate to me. You will be what I want you to be and we will no longer hide. Do you understand?” 

Spock said nothing but rose to his feet. He could find no comment worthy of uttering. Kirk was wrong. 

Spock watched silently as Kirk turned away and straightened his uniform. He re-tied his sash and moved across the room to sit stiffly at his desk. Kirk’s face grew hard and determined as he sat unmoving once more. The emotions between them slowly diminished, muting and fading to faint echoes. Apparently, Kirk had some innate skill in managing his telepathy. Spock knew, however, he needed more training. This was what he could do for his mate, even if he could not offer what they both truly craved. 

“Captain…” Spock entreated, ready to offer assistance.

Kirk spoke low, “If you ever strike me again, I will kill you. I don’t care what it does to me.” Kirk swung dead hazel eyes toward Spock. “I will kill you.”

Spock straightened, feeling pride in his mate. They held eyes for a long moment and Spock sensed the subtle undercurrent of mutual understanding and acceptance. Spock recognized a faint tinge of sorrow before it disappeared — he could not deny it echoed his own. Better it should be snuffed out now before it had chance to grow. 

Later, they would find a way to exist together, sharing lust and greed as they ripped a path of destruction through the Empire. One day, they would face the Emperor and find victory together, the most powerful force the Empire had ever known. Vulcan would rise again, and if Spock were to believe in human luck, Kirk might just prove Spock wrong about their bond -- that one day they might reveal what had been so enticingly offered to them. With that thought, he placed a tiny portion of hope and buried it deeply inside his mind.

Until then, Spock took his place as a loyal subordinate.

“Understood, Captain,” Spock said, reveling in one last image of his proud, beautiful mate, before deliberately destroying his longing. He was determined to protect them both.

Kirk seemed to frown, then picked up a PADD from his desk. “You are dismissed, Commander.” Their bond was flat and silent.

Spock nodded wordlessly and retreated. The doors whispered closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for continuing to read -- I never intended to take this long to complete the story and I am grateful for the comments and encouragement. I am so happy with how it turned out and would love to know your thoughts. Damn, I love these two fools so much! LLAP


End file.
